


The Edge

by LittleMuse



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Adult Content, Adultery, Established Relationship, M/M, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:16:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMuse/pseuds/LittleMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Spock enters <i>pon farr</i> and it is discovered Jim would likely not live through it, Spock is forced to return to the colony and marry a Vulcan female. Jim is forced to let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

Jim had grown up in a town full of farms, where trees had been as few and far between as forward thinking. All he had had to do was sit on the front porch to see when thunder and lightening had been approaching, to catch that whiff of ozone on the gathering wind.

He knew the calm before a storm when he saw it. And one had been brewing for weeks now.

He had not asked Spock about it; there had been no reason to. Jim's instincts, much as his first officer had learned to respect them in crisis situations, were hardly valid when it came to a straight-up debate with his lover. Spock would want evidence and Jim blurting out that he had seemed distant lately would not qualify, he knew this.

There had been times these past days when Jim, trying to work out what Spock might say to such a question, had managed to convince himself -- in Spock's voice -- that he had nothing to worry about. That this was all in his head. What had made him believe something was wrong in the first place? Spock was _always_ withdrawn. It had taken Jim months to crack through just the first _layer_ of the walls the Vulcan had built around himself.

But once on the inside of them, was he ever supposed to be put outside again? Anyone else might not have noticed the difference, but Jim was not anyone, had not been for some time.

Spock had not stopped accepting invitations, but he had stopped extending them. Quips with McCoy had more bite behind them, his humor shone through less, and this was the first night Jim had cajoled him into sharing a bed in a week and a half.

And there had been no sex. Had he mentioned that? Because that was important. Yeah.

Not that that part had exactly been Spock's fault. Jim had not warned him he would be waiting in his bed for fear Spock would have told him not to bother, and he had fallen asleep waiting for him to return from the labs (where he had been spending more and more time lately -- maybe Jim could use that as evidence).

Jim had woken for a brief few moments when Spock had slipped into the bed behind him and, finding an arm quickly draped over his waist with no coaxing needed from him, had gone back to sleep.

Until now.

Jim blinked an eye open, peeking out from the pillow, but the room was still dark and he was facing the bulkhead. His gaze roved wildly over what he could see and, finding it wasn't much, he rolled to his back, chest sticky with sweat and sighing when he almost toppled into Spock; these beds were really not made for two.

He flopped his head over to look at his bedmate and stared, curiously. Spock never moved or made noises in his sleep; Jim would never have assumed that he was what had woken him. Usually it was the cramped bed or, when they slept in Spock's quarters like now, the heat.

Not so, tonight.

Spock mumbled something inaudible that may not have even been Standard, and Jim's eyes widened. He had never heard Spock speak any way but clearly and evenly in all the time he had known him, had never heard him speak Vulcan at length either. He assumed he did with his father, but Jim had never been privy to their meetings. He did not even know if Sarek knew about him, outside of his being Spock's commanding officer.

And he did not know if Spock spoke with his counterpart at all.

Jim propped himself up on his elbows. He wondered if he should find this a cause for concern or amusement; he was sleepy enough to be leaning toward the latter. He could feel that a goofy half-grin had broken out on his face without his permission, and he leaned closer, trying to make out any discernible words.

Spock's brow furrowed and Jim's did as well when he noticed the fine sheen of sweat on the other's forehead. Such a Human reaction, one Jim had rarely seen in Spock, and he shifted nearer again.

"Spock," he whispered, and Spock gave a tiny moan, like he might have recognized his name. Jim swallowed and reached a hand out, pressing it to Spock's face, but Spock was always hot -- would Jim even know unhealthy warmth when he felt it?

There was no opportunity to decide. Mere seconds after Jim felt clammy skin beneath his fingertips, Spock's eyes snapped open and he surged up and over Jim, one hand pushing at his shoulder and the other at his throat, forcing him back onto his back.

Jim froze as Spock did, face shocked and breathing heavy and erratic, staring up into wild dark eyes. Neither moved -- Jim was terrified to. His hands fell either side of his head, raised like he was being arrested, fingers clenching, unsure.

Spock stared at him and Jim made himself breathe.

"... Jim," Spock whispered eventually. Jim blinked in reply; the fingers at his neck could easily prevent words. Spock's eyes fell to his hand and the fingers loosened, thumb stroking over Jim's Adam's apple with purposeful tenderness. Then he exhaled and lowered his head, burying his face against Jim's shoulder. " _T'hy'la_..."

Jim gazed at the ceiling, adrenaline still flooding his limbs, then closed his eyes and breathed out, lifting a shaky hand to the back of Spock's head.

He did not sleep the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

"Don't you think you should be talking to him about this?" McCoy asked him two days later when waiting for Spock to bring it up hadn't worked.

"I would," Jim said, watching the doctor scrawl across a data PADD. He knew far more attention was being paid him than it seemed, but it could still be annoying. "Before, I would have, when it was just about him. But what happened... I think he's embarrassed."

"You mean you think it's about you, now."

When Jim looked up from watching McCoy's hands, the doctor was now watching him. "I don't know. That, or... he's dragged me in now when he didn't mean to."

"What do you think it is?"

Jim hesitated. His baser instincts wanted to assume that Spock was angry with him, or worse, losing interest in even that. Jim had never been in a relationship of this length; he didn't know how to navigate this end of the river, nor one with a current this strong. Enough time around McCoy and certified Starfleet psychologists rendered those thoughts easily recognizable as his abandonment issues, but identifying them only helped so much.

Spock was hiding something. If he stripped the situation of his concern for their relationship, he knew that much, and he knew it objectively. As to why he was hiding it from him, Jim could only speculate.

"Whatever it is, he must think I don't need to know," Jim said. Yes, that made sense. If Spock had a problem with him, he would tell him; he was always one to speak directly -- nothing got done otherwise. Even if he wanted to end things, he would tell Jim. The question was whether or not Jim would agree that he didn't need to know whatever this was. His jaw tightened. He would guess not.

"So then, it's personal," McCoy said, and it took Jim a moment to really hear him.

"I assumed," he agreed. "Why do you say that?"

"You're his CO, Jim, and he's painfully aware of it." An eyeroll. "He doesn't have the luxury of hiding the professional from you."

Jim's eyes fell to the doctor's cluttered desk again. "Hm."

"But you know," McCoy leaned forward, threading his fingers together, "if it affects your working relationship, or his performance... the personal can become the professional."

Jim looked up at him.

"If you know what I mean," McCoy smirked.

 

* * *

 

Jim knew exactly what the good doctor had meant. And he was not above using manipulation in times of diplomacy and the like, but with Spock... it felt low.

He would call it Plan B, he decided. B for Bastard Thing To Do.

Plan A involved an invitation to his quarters under the pretense of chess, and Jim made himself feel better about this by telling himself it was evident in Spock's eyes that he knew Jim would want to talk about "it" when he arrived. Whatever the hell "it" was.

Now he was watching Spock set up the board (Jim was white, this time) and wondering if it was worse to just spit it out, or to wait until the game was underway and lull him into a false sense of security.

Spock should have been asking about his day by now; he used to have a habit of that. They spent most together, but Spock had a way of asking how Jim _felt_ about them, oddly enough; their usual opener for easy conversation throughout the evening.

He was silent tonight.

It was that which made up Jim's mind. He sat, forefinger tapping against his lips and watched Spock arrange the pieces, before deciding that waiting was overrated.

He lowered his eyes in consideration. "Spock," he said, voice weaker than he had meant for it to be. He cleared his throat and dropped his hand to his lap.

Spock glanced up at him. "It is your move, Captain."

"I know." Jim sat up in his seat and leaned forward. How to go about this? Spock never appreciated beating around the bush. "We, uh... need to talk."

Jim cringed the moment the words were out of his mouth. He had never said them in quite the way he meant them now, though he had _heard_ them plenty of times, and around that time in a relationship had always been his cue to cut and run. Women always had to make such a big _deal_ out of everything and he supposed he understood, cerebrally at least, that they had been afraid. Afraid that any problem they neglected to discuss with him would only grow larger. But Jim had never _cared_ , had never been in those relationships to maintain them. Those women had been attempting to prune a bush that he had planned to eventually uproot in the first place.

There was a pause. "Of what, Captain?"

The hesitation may have been taken as confusion by some, but Jim knew better. "Spock," he sighed. "We've talked about you doing that."

"... Jim," Spock obediently amended, though Jim knew it would only last the evening if he was lucky and the instance if he was not. "Of what?"

Jim swallowed. "The other night."

Another pause. "I do not believe I understand."

"Oh, come on, Spock, don't do that." Jim sat back, frustrated. It was difficult enough to bring up any perceived problem without Spock attempting to thwart him. "You wanna play obtuse with Bones, you go right ahead, but this is me. That's not fair."

Spock had the decency to look ashamed, in his own way. "When you extended your invitation, did you wish to play chess or to discuss this?"

Jim set his jaw. "This," he said firmly.

Spock's gaze darted to the chess board. "I see."

"So tell me what happened."

"I apologize, Jim, I should have explained at the time. It was no fault of your own, you simply woke me from a most vivid dream."

Jim considered that. "A dream."

"An... unpleasant dream."

As uncommon for Spock as tossing and turning. "Since when do you have nightmares?"

"As you and Doctor McCoy are so fond of pointing out, Jim, I _am_ half-Human."

Except on the rare occasion Spock was teasing him, it was never a good sign when he was willing to draw attention to his humanity. "Okay," he said. "What was it about?"

Spock arched an eyebrow. "Is the content pertinent?"

Jim shrugged a shoulder. "You tell me."

"I do not know what insight you hope to gain from such information."

"Maybe why you _attacked_ me," Jim spit out, and then because he instantly regretted it, he added almost jokingly, "I know we still have our differences, but I thought we were past that stage in our relationship."

"Jim," Spock said, "I apologize again. It was not my intention to harm you--"

"I know that." How could Spock think he did not? "That's why I want to know what kind of dream would make you." He sighed. "Because I'm not so sure it was an isolated incident."

"How so?"

"You've been strange, lately." Spock looked ready to protest that, so he went on. "Don't pretend you haven't been. If something's wrong, I need to know."

"Has my performance suffered, Captain?"

Jim tamped down the anger that reared at that question, overwhelming and sudden. "I didn't want to go there." _This time_ , he did not say. He stood, Spock's eyes on him and rounded the table, impatient with the barrier. He set a hand on Spock's neck. "If something's wrong, I want to help."

Something twitched in Spock's face at that, and Jim could not name it. He lifted a hand to Jim's and trailed fore and middle finger along his knuckles, almost wistfully. "There are some things I would not ask of you," he said.

Jim had no idea what to do with that. He slowly turned his hand over to grasp Spock's fingers. "If you can't tell me," he said, tugging Spock's hand up, "show me."

Spock watched Jim brush his fingers against his face as though his hand were independent from his body, and then stood abruptly, pulling it from Jim's grip.

"No," he said, tone forceful.

They had not melded in almost a month, and Jim had never considered that the distance might have extended to that. He had not asked before now, and Spock had never denied him in the past -- quite the contrary, he had seemed pleased at Jim's eagerness.

To be turned away when he had always been welcomed before was surprisingly jarring.

"... Okay," Jim said, though his stomach had bottomed out at the refusal, and he swallowed down a rush of nausea. It had been a long time since he had felt any intimacy was asking of Spock more than he could give.

He hated that he had grown close enough to someone to become disappointed -- _hurt_ \-- when his advances were not met halfway.

Time to take it up a notch, then. And Spock had asked for it. If he would not respond to his lover, he _would_ respond to his captain.

"Then you're just going to have to tell me," Jim told him, a note of command in his voice that he knew Spock would not miss. "Maybe I think this _is_ affecting your work."

Spock, who had been avoiding Jim's gaze since reclaiming his hand, looked back to him. "It is your prerogative to remove me from duty, Captain, but I believe you may require a more concrete incentive."

"I don't feel like I can trust you like this," Jim said with a defeated head shake, and Spock's face changed again. "I don't know that there's a more valid reason than that."

He waited. Spock stared at him and said nothing.

Jim sniffed a mirthless laugh, averting his eyes to the side. "Okay," he conceded. "Dismissed, then." He met Spock's eyes pointedly. " _Commander_."

Spock hovered for a moment and then left while Jim stared at the untouched chess board.

 

* * *

 

Jim refrained -- for then -- from suspending Spock, and they did not speak outside the Bridge for a full week.

No one but McCoy (and perhaps Uhura, Jim thought occasionally, when she would look at him) even noticed, and Jim took that as a good sign. It must have meant that he and Spock were careful about keeping the professional professional. The gossip mill was quiet because Uhura knew when to keep her mouth shut and if McCoy was going to talk to anyone, it was going to be Jim.

Jim thought that a blessing until he actually did.

"Jim," he called after him in the halls on day eight of the freeze-out and Jim glanced over his shoulder to find McCoy jogging to catch up with him. "You got a minute?"

The doctor's eagerness was unnerving. "A minute," he agreed, warily.

"It's Spock," McCoy told him, and though the words were hardly surprising, it did nothing to quell the sinking feeling in Jim's gut. "I think I'm starting to see whatever you were seeing."

He would almost rather his friend's initiative have been grilling him on his lack of communication with Spock. When this had all been in his head, perhaps it had been precisely and only that.

"How?" he demanded.

"Well," Jim watched McCoy's brow furrow, "it's nothing I can pinpoint without an examination, but he's become increasingly restive." And perhaps seeing Jim's concern, he smirked at him. "If he weren't a Vulcan, I'd almost say nervous. And for another thing, he's been avoiding food. I checked and he hasn't eaten at all in three days."

"Well." Jim looked to his boots. "That..."

"Might have more to do with you two, yes, I thought of that." McCoy's look was almost scolding, there. "And I'm not so sure it's that simple." Then his gaze drifted off over Jim's shoulder, and he called, "Miss Chapel."

Jim turned to see the nurse round the corner and he wondered how the doctor had seen her. His eyes fell curiously to the tray she was carrying and McCoy's soon followed them.

"What's this?" he asked, before Jim could.

"Oh." She glanced down like she had just noticed her burden as well and her cheeks flushed.

McCoy leaned forward and reached up to pluck the lid from the tray's bowl. "Vulcan Plomeek soup," he assessed. "And I'll bet you made it too." He glanced at Jim and then grinned at Nurse Chapel. "You never give up hoping, do you."

"Well, Mister Spock hasn't been eating, Doctor," she insisted, feet shuffling. "And I- I just happened to notice."

Just happened to notice. Jim vividly recalled a week in his bed with the flu last year, and Nurse Chapel had never shown up at his door with chicken noodle. He opened his mouth and McCoy's hand grasped at his elbow, hard.

"It's all right," he said and Jim shut his mouth. "Carry on, Miss Chapel."

She ducked away with her tray, further down the corridor, and Jim sighed.

"Bones, I'm a busy man," he said, though his only destination had been his own quarters, on down the way.

"Jim," McCoy said, tone carrying as much intent to halt him as the hand still on his arm. "When I suggested to Spock that it was time for his routine check-up, your logical, unemotional first officer turned to me and said, ' _You will cease to pry into my personal matters, Doctor, or I shall certainly break your neck._ '"

Jim's eyebrows migrated toward his hairline; his friends had their differences, but that was pushing it. "Spock said that?"

McCoy was poised to respond, mouth open, when they both heard, " _What is this?_ "

The only time Jim had heard Spock shout had been on their first mission, and even then, it had been unintelligible and had come from a place of severe grief for his mother. Jim still felt guilty when he thought about it. Hearing this only served to prove that something was, in fact, gravely wrong.

They both jumped when they heard Nurse Chapel's shout of alarm, and then once again when her bowl of soup followed her out of Spock's quarters, slamming into the bulkhead beyond her with a sickening crack.

" _Poking and prodding!_ " Spock went on as Jim watched the thick soup trickle down in violet rivulets. " _If I want something from you, I'll ask for it!_ "

He appeared in his doorway and froze, as though he had been expecting to find the hall empty but for the nurse, but of course, all passersby had stopped to stare. They would have for a much lesser event.

Spock's eyes fell on Jim and McCoy. "Captain," he said, like the word pained him. "I would speak with you."

He did not wait for an answer before turning back into his quarters. Jim looked to McCoy, who was already looking at him. He shrugged at Jim, very _I told you so_.

"Get it out of him, Jim," he told him. "I like to take care of terrorizing my staff on my own."

Jim rolled his eyes but followed Spock into his quarters.

Spock was seated at his desk, waiting, and Jim waited for the door to hiss shut before saying, "All right, Spock, let's have it."

Spock looked at the doorway behind Jim, clearly indicating what he had done. "It is undignified for a woman to play servant to a man who is not hers." His eyes flicked to Jim, then back to his hands.

Jim's initial anger had already been simmering down to pure resolve these past few days, and that statement almost sapped him of even that.

"Spock," he sighed, shoulders drooping. God, a week, and for what? What if Spock was _sick_? He was at least obviously hurting, and Jim was just going along, mad at him for not sharing his _feelings_. "I'm sorry. But you can't..." He looked back to the door himself, "do stuff like that."

"It is your duty to reprimand me."

Jim's brow furrowed. "I'm not gonna dress you down, Spock, just... don't take whatever's going on with us out on everyone else." He scoffed. "I never thought I'd have to tell _you_ that."

Spock rose to his feet and tugged the hem of his shirt straight. "With all due respect, Captain, this is not about you and me."

Jim was not sure that Spock meant for them to be, but the words were like a punch in the face. "So it's whatever was going on before, then."

Spock did not reply.

"Spock, you're getting worse, you're going to have to _talk to me_." On instinct, Jim reached for him, and Spock stepped backward like a skittish animal. Jim slowly lowered his hand. The rejection still surprised him.

"Captain," Spock said, and Jim got the feeling he was resetting the tone of the conversation, "I should like to request a leave of absence on the colony."

Jim did not know what he had been expecting, but that had not been it. A leave of absence did not mean _leaving_ , Jim knew that, but Spock had never requested leave as long as Jim had known him. It at least meant that whatever was wrong, Spock did not believe it could be handled by resources aboard the ship, Doctor McCoy -- and himself -- among them.

"Why?" he made himself ask.

"It is a private matter."

Jim bit his lip to keep from pulling his hair out. "You know," he began. "I really thought..." _I was making progress with you._ But could he say that? Was it fair to assume that coaxing Spock to his way was coaxing him to the better way? That a step toward Jim was a step forward?

A healthy relationship needed that kind of communication, Jim knew, though he had no idea where he had learned it. But if it took this much pushing...

Maybe Spock didn't want this anymore.

Jim swallowed down panic. "If you want me to alter course just for you, I'm going to need more than ' _it's a private matter_ '."

Spock stood silent.

"Spock, you can tell me, or you can tell Doctor McCoy. He was itching to get you down to Sickbay _before_ that little stunt in the hall."

"Even Vulcans do not speak of it among themselves, Captain," Spock insisted. "And you are an out-worlder."

That made Jim hesitate. Perhaps this was not Spock's secret to tell. But Jim was more than an out-worlder. "Explain why you need to return to the colony," he commanded. "Consider that an order."

Spock looked like he was considering his words, which Jim had never seen him do. "Because I must leave the ship."

Jim squinted at him. "Is that all?"

"... Now. Yes."

"I'll come with you--"

"No!" Spock said, with the same vehemence that he had refused the meld a week ago.

"Spock, _damn_ it!" Jim reached for Spock's shoulders and gripped them this time, but then he was shoved backward until his back met the bulkhead and the breath rushed from his lungs at the impact. There was that same wild look in Spock's eyes, that same sudden terror in Jim's chest and he gulped in air.

It took Spock several moments to speak. "You cannot come with me," he muttered, voice low, like threats Jim used to get in bars. Then his forehead dropped to Jim's and his eyes closed and Jim tried to ride the wake of the wave like he had the last time, still ready for a fight. "I cannot..."

Jim could feel Spock's breath ghosting over his lips and he folded his down, licking them and regaining his own composure. It was all so disorienting. "Spock..." And he tried again to touch him, fascinated when Spock allowed the hand upon his face without even opening his eyes, even leaned into it.

" _T'hy'la,_ " Spock murmured and his nose moved down Jim's neck. " _Taluhk nash-veh k'dular. Kup-fi nash-veh..._ "

Jim understood only the first word and the desperation of the tone, and it frightened him more than Spock's violence had, dread dripping like a leaky faucet and puddling. "Spock," he said, and when Jim tried to maneuver Spock's head back up, Spock sealed their mouths together and groaned.

Jim's lips parted in surprise and a velvet slick tongue slipped past them, eager and demanding. Spock had not kissed him like this since the first time, when tensions had been running high and finally snapping had been such a release, like it _hurt_ , enough to _make_ it hurt. He gasped when their lips parted, desperate for air, but was quickly devoured again, breaking the surface only to be submerged again. Spock was dead weight, dragging them both down and under.

Spock's fingers slipped up and under his uniform shirt, burning little trails, and Jim's hands went to Spock's smooth hair. He clung to handfuls of the strands for dear life, and Spock shoved him against the wall again with his hips, erection pressing hard and hot into the groove of his groin.

They parted long enough to shuck Jims shirt and then met again, Spock cupping Jim's jaw to angle his head. Smooth lips pressed and parted from his and Spock's fingers splayed over his cheeks, trailing whispers as they had trailed heat up his back and Jim gasped with the significance, feeling more than hearing, as he would in a meld. _Loveyoucan'tloseyouhurtyoucan'tloveyou_. Jim would not even have understood the words if they had actually _been_ words.

He turned his head away from Spock's constantly seeking mouth and breathed. "Wh-what is that?" he managed, running his palms up Spock's still clothed chest. "I can hear you..."

Spock moaned into his pulse point and Jim shuddered. "Yes..." he hissed like a prayer, and then, "No..." and he straightened, pushing himself away from Jim. "No, no, no, no..." He turned his back, gripping his own hair and breathing strangely.

Jim stood still, gasping and bereft.

Spock's breathing continued in harsh pants, back rigid and the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes. It was dangerously close to sobbing and Jim stepped forward without thinking.

"Spock." He placed a hand on his shoulder and the Vulcan wrenched away.

"Do not touch me," he ordered, a clear knee-jerk reaction, but it still stung.

"Spock," Jim said, watching him. "Spock, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

Spock exhaled carefully and his hands dropped but his back remained turned and tight. "Jim," he said. "Captain. I _must_ have a leave of absence."

Jim wanted to say _tell me why_ and make Spock answer, but he had never seen him like this, and it was beyond horrifying. If Spock thought a trip to the colony could fix this, who was Jim to deny him, as long as it indeed got fixed?

Watching Spock carefully to ensure he would not misinterpret his movements, Jim crossed slowly to the desk and to the comm unit upon it. He tapped the button and Spock's shoulders drew in at the beep.

"Bridge," Jim said. "Helm."

" _Yes, Captain?_ " Sulu.

Jim sighed. "Alter course to the Vulcan colony. Increase speed to warp four."

" _Aye, sir._ "

Jim took a moment to appreciate the lack of hesitation or questions, the immediate acceptance. A necessity in the military that took many years to grasp on instinct. His crew was young, but exceptional.

Then he looked back to Spock and released the button.

"Thank you, Captain," Spock said, calm now, but obviously ashamed.

Jim ran a hand over his face and then propped both on his hips. "... Do you want me to go?"

Spock stared resolutely at the deck. "That would be wise."

Jim nodded, jaw tense. "Okay," he made himself say. "But I want you to report to Sickbay before we arrive."

Spock met his eyes for the first time since they had parted. "Sickbay?"

"Complete examination. That's an order."

Spock's gaze lowered again and he did not protest -- perhaps he understood that it would do no good -- and Jim took the opportunity to move back around him to snatch his shirt from the deck. He pulled it over his head and jerked his arms through with a sigh.

Jim hesitated, heart pounding as it did when he dealt with irate foreign dignitaries, like it did on the rare occasion he and Spock had a real fight. He debated not saying it, if it would sound trite. "I love you." He swallowed. It did sound ridiculous aloud in this scenario, but he did not regret it. "You know that."

Spock's eyes shut. "Yes."

Jim nodded, stood there another moment, and then turned to step into the hall, door slipping closed after him. Walking traffic had long since picked up again.

"God only knows why," he mumbled to himself, before moving on.


	2. Part II

It was a tense alpha shift on the Bridge without Spock. Jim was certain now that more than just Uhura were now aware that something was wrong -- Spock never got sick, never begged off, never shirked his duty, and they all knew it. Chekov even sputtered a few words when Spock's relief arrived, Standard still like water under his tongue, but a shake of the head from Sulu stopped him from asking any questions. No doubt the incident with Nurse Chapel had spread through all decks like wildfire.

When Jim heard, " _Sickbay to Bridge_ ," he did not know whether to feel relief or apprehension.

With a glance at the two sets of eyes watching him from the helm, he pressed down on the arm of his chair. "Captain here," he said. "What is it, Bones?"

" _I need to talk to you._ "

Any other time, Jim might have joked that they _were_ talking. "Bones-"

" _Now, Jim._ "

Jim's heart picked up speed and he licked at his lips. "All right, then," he said. "Meet me in my quarters in five minutes. Kirk out." He released the button.

When he stood and stepped up to the second level, Uhura was watching him, a question in her brown eyes. She would surely want to know, whatever was wrong, but he could hardly tell her now, even if he had known, himself. He glanced at the lieutenant seated at the science station and then moved to the turbolift.

"Mister Sulu, you have the conn," he called, stepping into it.

"Aye, sir."

The lift doors slid smoothly shut and he braced himself against the railing, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"Deck five," he said after a moment and the lift began a slow downward plummet.

It was a twenty second ride. No one else got on. He stood, gripping the hand rail so hard it hurt, and when the zoom hushed and gravity reasserted itself, the door opened on his own deck. Jim took a step and caught himself in a stumble, startling a young woman waiting to step inside.

She glanced down the hall, then back at him as he stepped out. "Are you all right, sir?"

Jim looked at her. She looked nervous, like it had been her duty to ask, but she was uncomfortable speaking with him. He still could not get used to wielding intimidation. "I'm fine, thank you," he assured her, but his hands were still shaking. "Carry on, Yeoman."

She moved warily around him and into the lift and he went to his quarters, careful not to glance at Spock's along the way. They were empty and he waited another agonizing two minutes before the door chimed again.

"Come," he called.

"Jim," McCoy said as soon as he had stepped inside, before the door had even shut again. He moved toward him with purpose. "You've got to get Spock to the colony."

That was not the new information he had been anticipating. "Bones, I'm trying-"

"No! Now -- right away!" the doctor insisted. Jim almost expected to be seized by the shoulders and shaken. "If you don't get him there within a week -- eight days, at the outside -- he'll die. He'll _die_ , Jim."

Jim had been expecting... something. Something horrible and possibly not fixable by them, but that window of time and that extreme a result... He turned away from McCoy to pace, gathering his thoughts.

Die. Unacceptable. Unacceptable for any of his crew, but Spock he could not lose. There were not many concrete rules to this relationship thing, but being completely without the other person, Jim considered one of them.

"Why die?" he demanded. Autopilot, set to command. "Why within eight days? Explain."

"I don't know."

Jim turned to squint at him. Who made a statement that severe without knowing why? "You keep saying that. Are you a doctor or aren't you?"

McCoy sighed like he did whenever Jim broke a bone. "There's a growing imbalance of body functions," he explained. "As if, in our bodies, huge amounts of adrenaline were constantly being pumped into our bloodstreams."

Yes, Jim could sympathize with that, after today.

"Now, I can't trace it down in my biocomps, Spock won't tell me what it is... but if it isn't stopped, somehow, the physical and emotional pressures will simply kill him."

Jim winced. McCoy really needed to stop using words like that. "... You say you're convinced he knows what it is?"

McCoy nodded. "He does," he said. "And he's as tight-lipped about it as an Aldebaran Shellmouth." Jim moved for the door and he called after him, "No use to ask him, Jim, he won't talk."

Jim stopped shy of the door, shoulders tense. "Where is he?"

"In his quarters, if he actually obeyed doctor's orders, though at this point, I imagine he will simply because he's afraid to be anywhere else. The lack of control..."

Jim swallowed.

"He said he was going to try to meditate, but if you ask me, it's like trying to sleep after a gallon of coffee." Jim felt him step up behind him, felt the urge McCoy had to reach out, though he did not. "Listen, Jim," he said, and Jim could see his friend's brows curling together, even though he was not looking at him, "I don't pretend you don't have a better chance of getting him to squeal than I do, but I _do_ doubt it."

"Bones-"

"And I'd just like to point out that, at least the way Scotty tells it... with this particular Vulcan... there are... _other resources_ available to us."

Jim turned to him, but McCoy's expression had not changed from the one he had imagined. He knew Scotty well enough now to not be surprised. The real shocker was that the whole senior staff did not know -- or perhaps they did.

"I don't know about that," he said.

"Jim, it's not your fault Spock's refusing to talk. When it's a secret that's threatening his life, I'd say you're within your rights. But, hey," McCoy shrugged, "your call. But get it out of one of them... him. Please."

Jim nodded and the doctor left, somewhat reluctantly. Once he had left, Jim returned to his desk.

"Bridge," he sighed, pressing the comm unit's button. "Helm." _Again,_ he thought to himself.

" _Everything all right, Captain?_ "

Jim scoffed at the greeting. Sulu must have been getting curious along with the rest of them. "Increase speed to maximum warp, Mister Sulu."

" _... Aye, sir._ "

That done, Jim sat back and considered. Spock... older Spock... would be happy to hear from him, that was for sure, at least until he heard the topic of discussion. And his own Spock _was_ pushing him toward this, giving him no other option.

He sighed and reached forward again with an eye-roll. "Uhura."

 _"Yes, sir?"_ Quickly, like she had been waiting to hear his voice.

"Get me a secure subspace channel with Ambassador Sarek."

There was a pause which Jim took for surprise at first, but then came, " _Have it, sir. Shall I patch it through to your quarters?_ "

He had always loved that woman. "Yes, please."

He steeled himself for a conversation, however brief, with Spock's father. He always got the impression that Sarek did not care much for him. Truthfully, Sarek could seem that way to anyone, he hardly knew Jim, and given that he was more accustomed to Humans than most Vulcans, _logically_ , that seemed unlikely, but he had never gone to any lengths to reassure Jim otherwise, and for that matter, neither had Spock.

Then the screen flipped on and he blinked at the woman‘s face he was presented with. Uhura had patched him through to the house, naturally, and he forced a smile for the servant where he would not have bothered or even avoided it with the ambassador.

"Hello." Jim shifted in his seat. "I was wondering if Ambassador Spock is planetside... uh, and home."

" _He is planetside,_ " she said. " _However, he is not home. I can patch you through to the embassy._ "

Instinct was to protest and assure her that it could wait if he was working. But truthfully, Jim was not sure it could wait.

"Yes, please, thank you."

The screen cut and Jim was presented with the House symbol while he waited.

He waited so many minutes that his face was in his hand when he heard, " _Jim._ "

Jim glanced up over his fingers. Spock's eyes, usually pleased at a call from him, were troubled. He pushed a smile. "Hey, old man," he said.

" _Something is wrong,_ " Spock assessed. Perhaps he _had_ been pleased, until he had seen Jim's face.

Jim sat up, letting the smile fade. "Yeah," he said gruffly, and then, "Yes," more loudly.

Spock's face, always more changeable than his own Spock's, grew visibly more concerned.

"I'm all right," Jim assured him, certain that was the other's thought process. It would be his Spock's, and the two were not so different as they would like to think. "It's Spock."

Spock's eyebrow arched. " _Is he aware that you are speaking to me about him?_ "

"Look," Jim leaned forward, "he won't talk to me. And it's bad. So I need someone who will."

" _Then he does not._ "

"I'm not so interested in the ethics of the situation right now."

" _... I see._ " Spock's eyes drifted down, then met Jim's again. " _What is the problem?_ "

"That's just it, he won't _tell_ me." Jim hesitated then, wondering if he was sounding like a child, but something about the elder Spock brought that out in him. He could be one with no one else, it seemed. "Bones says there's, like... that in a Human it would be like a constant flow of adrenaline and that it's gonna kill him, but he has no clue what's causing it. Spock won't tell him either. And he's been so weird, lately, God... he avoids me when he can, he won't meld with me, he attacked me in his _sleep_ -"

" _In his sleep?_ "

"Yeah," Jim huffed. "He claimed it was a nightmare, but. Do you even dream?"

" _How did he attack you in his sleep?_ "

Jim blinked. "I dunno, he was making noises, which you never do, so I tried to wake him up, and he rolls over on me like he's gonna _kill_ me-"

" _Jim._ "

Jim stopped and looked up. "Do you know what it is he's not telling me?"

" _I... do, yes._ "

Oh, thank God. There went his hope, surging up without his permission, and who knew if it was too soon to be relieved. Knowing his life, that was a virtual certainty. "Tell me," he said, pleaded really, a tone he did not often hear in his own voice.

" _Jim._ " He had never seen Spock so unsure of his words before. He paused for a long time. " _I trust you will forgive me any impertinence in my query, but... you are in fact telling me that your relationship with my counterpart has developed a sexual connotation?_ "

Jim opened his mouth, prepared to demand what the hell that had to do with anything, and then he stopped. "Oh," he said. "I... didn't I tell you that?"

Up went the eyebrow again. " _Indeed not._ "

"I coulda sworn I..." Jim stopped to think, "or maybe I just... assumed you would know."

He watched Spock think more. " _Understand, Jim, my reaction is not..._ surprise _... in any more than your neglect to inform me, that is. But... I do admit to some measure of trepidation._ "

Jim's stomach sank, the way it had any time he had been scolded by an instructor he had actually respected at the Academy, the way it still did if Admiral Pike found cause to be disappointed in him. But self-pity or wallowing was a luxury he could not afford.

"Look... Ambassador, we can... talk about that later, I guess," he said. "Right now, I just need to know what's wrong with Spock."

" _I am not a tangential person, Jim,_ " Spock told him, like he did not know this. " _I clarify this for a reason. Your relationship has everything to do with what ails my counterpart._ "

For a not tangential person, Spock was certainly making Jim feel like they were going in circles. He opened his mouth to ask questions, but all that came out was, "Explain." And then, because Spock was not one of his crew, at least not anymore, "Please."

" _It is not something spoken of among out-worlders-_ "

"Yeah, I _know_ , he told me that," Jim said, beyond flustered.

" _But there are exceptions,_ " Spock went on, as though he had never been interrupted, but for the stern look. " _Once a Vulcan male has reached maturity, he must mate every seven years. The only alternative is death. The time is called_ pon farr."

"Uh..." Jim debated how to word what he wanted to say tactfully. "Well... we've sort of... been taking care of that."

Spock looked unamused, a rarity in the elder. " _This time is different. It is a madness, an utter lack of control, a_ violence _. It is most shameful._ "

"Ambassador," Jim squeezed his eyes shut and gave a disbelieving cough, "this explains why Spock didn't want to talk about it... I guess. But I'm afraid you're going to have to spell out the _problem_ for me, 'cause I'm not seeing it. I mean, you obviously got through it, didn't you guys just... uh, well." Jim licked his lips. He had had so many questions over the course of their acquaintance, but he never liked bringing up his own counterpart with the elder Spock. It felt like crashing a funeral.

The following pause was the longest yet. " _Jim._ " Spock briefly closed his eyes. " _I believe you are operating under the false assumption that my own relationship with your counterpart was sexual._ "

Jim froze. He had... he had melded with this Spock, had seen so much that would have led him to that assumption, and even if he had not, he had _felt_ what Spock had upon seeing him for the first time on Delta Vega, and that at least, had been unmistakable. And he was certain of his feelings for his own Spock, independent from the elder's influence. He had imagined it no other way. Someone may as well have told him that he was operating under the false assumption that the grass was green.

"You never..." He could not force out more. Knowing this made his own relationship feel sorely inappropriate, and he was in no fit state of mind to assure himself otherwise.

" _Our relationship was... complex,_ " Spock said and Jim had to suppress the _no shit_. " _I, like your own Spock, had spent the entirety of my life learning to control my emotions, and you were..._ he _was..._ "

Spock abruptly stopped talking, eyes averted from him and Jim felt a jolt of discomfort like he did around crying women. "Take your time," he told him, though he had no idea if it was the right thing to say.

" _... I knew quite early in our relationship that I loved him._ " Jim wondered how much it had cost him, to learn to say that word as easily as a Human. " _It was a most alarming realization, but I could not ignore it. It would have been illogical. He had turned the light on in a dark room -- it was not just that I saw it, it was that by it, I saw all else. I could not unsee it._ "

Jim quietly gulped down the lump in his throat and waited.

" _My Time came,_ " Spock continued. " _I avoided my captain, as my counterpart has been avoiding you, for shame and for fear that in my state of mind, I might seek him out and reveal all. I returned to my planet to engage in the_ koon-ut-kalifee _with a mate who had been chosen for me in childhood. He and Doctor McCoy followed; tradition dictated --_ dictates _\-- that closest friends be present. My mate challenged and selected Jim as her champion. We were forced into combat against one another._ "

It was like listening to the tales Sam used to weave out of his comic books for him, late at night, under the covers with a flashlight. Jim sat, morbidly fascinated.

" _The ingenuity of Doctor McCoy saved us both, but for a time... I believed I had killed him._ "

Jim wanted to ask how that had felt, what McCoy had done to save him, what Spock had done after. He pressed his lips closed, running his tongue along the seam they created.

" _I returned, was informed he was alive, and the relief... was indescribable. I could not risk losing it again._ "

Jim blinked, suddenly in the present again. "Wait," he said. "You never told him?"

Spock looked like he had no desire to answer that question. " _I believe we both knew,_ " he said after a moment. " _There were several melds over the years, and as vulnerable as I was to him, my shields surely could not have prevented all. And I... believe he felt the same. But no. I never told him._ "

Jim gaped at him and bit his lip to keep his jaw still. The resonance with himself was unavoidable and suddenly, he had not felt so close to tears in years.

" _Understand, Jim, I would have,_ " Spock said. " _It was not my own fear of my emotions... but myself. Relationships between males are not unheard of on my home planet, but never between those who would face the_ plak tow _\-- the blood fever -- simultaneously. The mating of the Time is so violent, and a male is so often viewed by another as a challenge. The strongest of Vulcan warriors have avoided it, and to ask it of a Human..._ "

Jim stared. _There are some things I would not ask of you._

" _No doubt,_ " Spock said, a sympathetic look in his eyes, " _my counterpart is aware of this._ "


	3. Part III

Spock's door was, unsurprisingly, locked. Sometimes, it was good to be the captain.

Spock was knelt before his firepot when Jim entered. The line of his shoulders grew rigid at the sound of the door; he could not have been that far under. As McCoy had suggested, no doubt he was having trouble relaxing.

Jim reset the lock to his own code. "We need to talk," he then said.

Spock did not turn. "... I expected Doctor McCoy would inform you of the severity of the situation."

Jim looked down to his boots. "Yeah, he did. Said you wouldn't tell him what was wrong either."

"Indeed not."

"So I called the ambassador."

He watched as Spock's breathing stilled and he slowly faced Jim. "You spoke with my counterpart?"

"You didn't give me much choice, did you?" Jim snapped. Spock blinked impassively. "He told me everything."

"Yes, I imagine he would."

"Hey," Jim took a step forward and brandished a finger at him, "don't do the condescending thing -- he helped me when you wouldn't. Don't blame him for trusting me just because you can't."

Too far, he knew the instant he had stopped talking. Years with Frank had beaten into his head how to get defensive, and then months of trying to scare raiders away from his food. Only the service had tempered it, and stress tended to bring it out, especially around Spock, where he could afford it.

But who knew what would push Spock over the edge at this point. Danger flared in the wake of guilt.

"It is not a question of trust, Jim," was all Spock said to that though. "Quite the contrary. And you misinterpret my regard for my counterpart. We are one and the same, and yet, we are not. I have experienced that he has difficulty finding the line between the two. And this... was not his to tell." Jim saw his throat bob. "You are mine. He must learn that what was best for him might well not be for me... for us. And that I am capable of deciding what is on my own."

Spock for _he had his turn with you_. Something told Jim there was more to that than the childish possessiveness that was coming across.

"How was keeping this from me best?" Jim moved closer and Spock's eyes assessed the movement warily. "I can help."

"Then I can only discern that the ambassador did not, in fact, ' _tell you everything'_."

"He told me it would be a bad idea. That you might... see me as a threat."

"As a challenge, yes." When Jim made another step forward, Spock went about extinguishing the firepot. "There is far more than a small chance of that."

"I want to help."

"You cannot."

Spock held his eyes and Jim swallowed his words at first, not wanting to say them. "... Then we'll find someone who can."

Both of Spock's eyebrows soared, and Jim wondered if he had said something drastically wrong. But Spock was leaving him no other option. "Jim," he said. "Are you under the impression that I am returning to the colony to seek a female mate?"

"Well, it's me or that, right? And you're turning me down. And the older you said that back when he-"

"He clearly explained far less than I first believed." Spock stood from his kneeling position, black robes swaying. "The woman selected for me was taken along with my mother and my planet, Jim." He shook his head. "There is no one waiting for me there."

"So then why are we rushing there?"

Spock's dark eyes wandered over Jim's face. "To remove me from here."

Jim stared, dumbfounded. Spock was refusing him, and a female mate. Going off to _die_ , like Jim would allow it, and of course he would never-

"That's why you wouldn't tell me," he muttered, and Spock did not reply, moving into the sleeping area of his cabin to set the pot away.

"I have left... referrals for both of my positions in the data discs on my desk," Spock explained, arranging things that had no need of being arranged and keeping his back to Jim. "You will find them all quite qualified and those selected for the executive officer position suited to complement your own abilities."

"Spock, that's... _no_." Jim stepped up behind him. "No, no. Can't they find someone for you? There have to be plenty of people who lost their mates too."

"That you would allow that-"

"Of _course_ I would allow it! The alternative's pretty fucking bleak, isn't it?" Jim snatched his shoulder and spun him to face him. "Can they find someone?" he demanded.

"... They can."

"Then what the hell is the _problem_?"

"Whoever they found would not be you."

Circles again. Jim blinked through them. "Spock," he said. "That's sweet and all, but kind of irrelevant. You won't let it be me, so we'll let it be someone else. You'll go, you'll take care of it, you'll come back."

"To you." It was half a question.

"Yes," Jim insisted. "Of course."

"Jim." Spock reached up to pry Jim's hands from his shoulders and Jim allowed it, though he clung to Spock's fingers. " _Pon farr_... it is largely telepathic."

"You need a telepath?"

"No. A compatible mind and willing body, nothing more. What I mean to say is... it is, at its core, a marriage. To survive requires the lifebond."

"Oh." Jim's grip on his fingers loosened somewhat in defeat. "You... couldn't come back."

"To the service, yes." Spock twined their fingers and Jim wondered if it was voluntary. "But not to you."

Jim's eyes fell to their hands. "Oh," he said again.

He heard Spock swallow. "Unacceptable."

Jim hesitated, and then let his forehead fall to Spock's chest. He felt like someone had let all the air out of him.

"Jim," Spock said, nose in his hair. "Please back away. The meditation was not sufficient to resist such proximity." He released Jim's hands.

"You can't just go _die_ ," Jim mumbled into his robe. "You won't let me help, well, I won't let you do that."

He could feel Spock breathing. "If the choice is my life or your own..." he said, "I must say, the decision is quite simple." Jim shut his eyes. "Even more so than I anticipated it would be." Spock shifted. "Jim, please," he said. "Back away."

Jim sniffed and lifted his head, obeying. "Is this why we never bonded?" he asked.

Spock was merely watching him, but Jim could see the subtle signs of his relief at Jim's distance. "We... never spoke of it," he reminded Jim. "I was unaware you would even desire it." Jim opened his mouth to correct him. "But had it come up. No, I would not have allowed it. As it is, melding with you has become increasingly draining, particularly during sexual congress-"

"What? You didn't tell me. I mean you..." Jim gestured futilely, "uh, lately, but. Why?"

"To prevent a bond from forming. Surely you have noticed the ever augmenting enmeshment, how much longer it has taken to withdraw than it did in the beginning, when even then it was-" Spock stopped himself. "Had I allowed it, the desire to seek you out when my Time came... would have been incontrovertible."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?" Jim turned and paced, angry, so angry. Spock was leaving him no say-so in this, and after getting them into this mess in the first place. "You knew about this -- why did you even..." Jim could not bring himself to suggest that they should never have started their relationship, such as it was. It would have been logical, but not _right_ , surely even Spock could feel that, surely he had, to fail at resisting it.

"I apologize, _ashayam_." Jim flinched at the endearment and stopped to listen. "I had never encountered anything such as you and hunger made me selfish. I did believe there was more time, that perhaps I would find another way or my fears would prove unfounded, but... I wanted you in such capacity as I could have you."

Jim prepared himself for another surge of anger, but it never came. Spock sounded as miserable as he felt; he could not begrudge him the time they had had, could not bring himself to regret it, so long as Spock survived it.

It was more than their counterparts had been gifted. It would have to be enough.

Jim set his jaw so it would not tremble. The apology the ambassador had given him by way of farewell was no longer strange to him.

He turned to find Spock watching him carefully. "Then you'll have to forgive me the same decision."

Spock looked like he was sizing up that statement, or perhaps as McCoy would say, computing it, but Jim did not move to clarify. He had been plain, he saw no reason to explain further.

"Jim," Spock said after a good minute of silence, and Jim almost jumped at his own name, "this is my decision."

Jim wanted to get in his face again, but some part of him was still aware that that was unwise. "Bullshit," he spat instead. "This affects us both. You've been making all the decisions until now, it seems; I think I can make one."

"Jim-"

"No," Jim said, "no... _no_. You don't just do this to people, okay? You don't just get someone all used to you, and then go all, 'oh, hey, by the bye.' No." Spock watched him, wide-eyed, but Jim felt little sympathy for him anymore. "I don't know how to be just _me_ anymore. Do you know what that's _like_? For someone like me? I spent my whole life avoiding _this_ place." He gestured back and forth between them. "And now I remember why!"

"Please stop shouting."

It was the way Jim had often said it to McCoy after a night of drinking back at the Academy, and it did deflate him. Yelling was probably not the best idea right now, when Spock was already worried that he would attack him - to whichever result. Jim sighed and made himself breathe.

"I want you any way I can get you," he said. "If that means only as a first officer and friend, then... okay."

Spock stood there a moment and then slowly and cleanly lowered himself to the bed, hands between his knees. "Jim, I... considered undergoing the Kolinahr."

Jim went to answer and then realized he had none. He had no idea what that meant. Was that what the ambassador had said he had returned to Vulcan for when his Time had come? Jim knew it had been something with a K. Was Spock conceding that he had at least thought about marriage? "Is that a wedding?" he asked, and he had meant it when he had, but now it was out of his mouth, no, that sounded wrong.

"No," Spock said. Had he been anyone else, Jim thought he would have been receiving a mirthless laugh right about now. "It is the Vulcan discipline which purges all emotion."

Jim had not even known such a thing existed and really, he thought, he should not have been surprised. "Okay..." was all he knew to say.

"I considered it even more after I met you; for my anger, then my grief, and then for... and then when you returned my sentiments, so that we would never face this situation."

Jim took that in. "So there's a way to get through it alone."

"None that I could come back from any more than I could from a marriage to another, and nor would there be sufficient time for it now. But in any event... I could not force myself."

"... I don't get it." It was nice to hear, but what did it have to do with anything?

"If I had believed living without you an option... I would have done it long ago."

Jim knew he should not be approaching him again, but he was a tactile person by nature, and words were rarely how he comforted. Spock's eyes were downcast, but as soon as he perceived Jim's nearness, he looked up, giving the impression of drawing back even though he had no where to move to.

"And what the hell," Jim said, cupping Spock's neck, thumbs brushing the curves of his jaw, "makes you think that doesn't go both ways?" Spock's eyes slipped closed, both relishing and resisting the touch. "You wouldn't be living without me this way."

"Jim," Spock whispered.

Jim watched him, moving a hand up to press a thumb to Spock's bottom lip, rapt. "You don't look like you're about to kill me."

Spock's eyes snapped open, and Jim almost thought it was surprise he saw in them. "I am not," he said. "The fever will not come upon me for days yet. I reject you for fear of my inability to resist bonding with you."

That was interesting to know, something Jim could actually exploit if he saw fit. He could make Spock let him help; it was nice to feel some measure of control over the situation again. Spock was lucky Jim would not do that to him, had surely known he would not or he would not have told him that. And even if he did, and then somehow survived the fever when it came, that would always be between them.

Jim swallowed, eyes on his roaming fingers. Spock must have been feeling it like kisses pressed to his face. "I want that," he admitted, like Spock did not know that, and maybe he didn't. "So there's option number one. Though considering I'm not risking you dying, I guess I can understand you not risking me either. So that leaves option number two -- finding you another mate. I'm not granting you leave otherwise. And you can try to hide out, but I'll lock you in here and seduce you 'til you snap." He jerked his head back toward the door. "I got access."

Spock stared at Jim's midsection, level with his eyes, and Jim petted at the back of his head, combing his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "... Make love," he said, reaching for Jim's waist and settling his hands there, "Bond... with someone who is not you."

Jim stepped closer, between his legs, without thinking. "That's right," he said.

"And never-" Spock licked his lips, gaze still falling toward the bottom of Jim's chest, "never make love with you again."

It was the obvious result, and yet, Jim had not considered it that way. This did not just apply to after Spock was bonded to someone else; if he feared bonding with Jim, it applied now as well. The last time they had had sex was the last time they ever would.

Jim could not even remember when it had been.

He stepped away from Spock, suddenly claustrophobic, and Spock's hands dropped from his waist. He wanted to punch Spock, hurt him, to cling to him and never let go. He could not move with it. He shuffled backward again.

"I'm going to call your father," he said. "You should be meditating anyway, and I'll make sure it gets done. I'll tell him our ETA and he can find you a mate." He glanced at Spock, because he could not stare at him. "Right?"

Spock's hands settled on his knees. "He can."

Jim nodded. "Okay, then."

He turned and hot-footed it to the bathroom door and to the other side of it, leaving Spock locked in his quarters, but then he was not likely to be leaving them anyway and Jim could not stay in there suddenly. He moved through the bathroom, past the shower, avoiding his face in the mirror where he would normally seek it out, and back through to his own cabin, sealing the door behind him.

He stood just inside, eyes bouncing over the room, chest heaving. His breathing kept speeding up and he swiped his hand at his mouth, bending to place both on his knees. He was still for a moment, focusing only on his lungs, the rise and fall of his shoulders.

"God," He straightened, " _damn_ it!" And he grabbed the nearest object -- an unopened bottle of Starfleet issue shampoo -- and threw it, hard. It sailed across the room and into the book shelf just above his bed, knocking several old tomes down, bouncing on the mattress and thunking on the deck.

It was no where near enough. He tugged the blankets and clothing from the wall shelves, kicked his desk and swiped at the contents of it, and when a data PADD clattered onto his foot, he snatched it without a thought and hurled it as he had the shampoo. It smashed the screen of the desk's comm unit with an explosive shatter and the noise was ridiculously satisfying.

Gasping for breath, he clutched at the corner of his desk and sank to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments guys, very encouraging words; I wish AO3 let you reply to them without upping your comment count, boo.


	4. Part IV

McCoy was, expectedly, busy when Jim arrived. He glanced up from the nasty-looking burn he was studying (Ensign Harris - Engineering; Jim made a point of remembering them all), dermal regenerator in hand, then back down again. "Well, look who it is," he snorted, bending the young girl's knee carefully. "Never thought I'd see th-" He looked up again, and his eyes caught this time, smirk fading. "... You look like shit," he observed eloquently.

Jim did not respond to that, offering a terse smile for the ensign that he hoped his friend would not miss.

"You feelin' all right?" McCoy asked, still paused over her leg.

"I'm fine," Jim said. "I came to use your office. If that's okay."

He received a suspicious look for that, and the doctor looked ready to ask him why, but wisely backed off at a shake of Jim's head. McCoy blinked. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Anything in your way, just push it aside. There's no method to my madness."

Jim nodded without a hint of amusement and moved back through the biobeds to the door to the office, letting himself inside and shooting a brief look at the cluttered desk before settling himself behind it.

He banged at the side of the comm unit. "Bridge," he said. "Navigation."

" _Yis... Keptin?_ "

Chekov had clearly been expecting Doctor McCoy. Jim was not about to explain. "ETA to the colony, Mister Chekov."

" _Therty-six hours, fifty-three mwinutes, sir._ "

Less than two days. Jim did not linger on the thought. "Good. Pass me to Lieutenant Uhura, please."

" _Yes, sir?_ "

"Get me a channel with Ambassador Sarek again," Jim instructed. "Direct with him, this time. I don't care where he is." He reached up to rub at his forehead.

" _... Yes, sir. One moment._ "

"Patch it here to Sickbay when you have it, please."

" _Yes, sir._ "

Jim waited. He could not bring himself to be nervous, this time. How mundane this all seemed now. Hell, when he really thought about it, what did it matter now if Sarek didn't like him? If he ever did?

He would get to pick someone he liked.

 

* * *

 

It did not take long, all in all. Vulcans, Jim had found, were surprisingly economical with their words. Spock used to be that way, before Jim had gotten him to open up more, or maybe it was just that he was half-Human and Sarek was not. Either way, he had rather taken the news in stride, especially considering that the way Spock told it, this _pon farr_ business had come early. Sarek had agreed to have someone ready by the time they arrived; apparently, as Jim himself had postulated, this situation was not uncommon in the past year or so.

Sarek had paused before cutting the transmission, observing Jim's appearance again. He had said nothing else, but Jim could have sworn he had nodded at him.

Maybe Spock _had_ told him about them. Maybe Sarek felt sympathy. Who knew. It hardly mattered.

When McCoy came in, Jim was still seated at his desk, staring at the wall.

McCoy paused just inside the door and leaned back against the wall. "Don't you have work to do?" he ventured, definitely not serious.

The hand that had been holding Jim's chin fell to his lap, elbows on the armrests. "Tons," he said. There were plenty of reports waiting on the desk - or the floor - in his cabin. They would no doubt be all the more time-consuming with Spock in no fit state to give them the once-over before Jim submitted them. At least they would keep him occupied later.

"So why are you in my office?" Not annoyed, but a real question in there.

"Because my desk's comm center is broken."

McCoy glanced off to the side, thinking about that. "What happened to it?"

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "Unfortunate encounter with a PADD."

McCoy, to his credit, took that in stride. He had surely seen worse during Academy days, Jim was sure. The doctor knew there was no one Jim could hit on board - something had to give. "Did you talk to the ambassador yet?"

It took Jim a moment, encounter with Sarek still fresh in his mind, to realize that McCoy meant the elder Spock. To remember that McCoy knew nothing outside of the seriousness of Spock's condition. "Yeah," he said. "I got done with him a while ago; I've been with Spock."

"What'd they say?"

Jim opened his mouth with the intent to answer, really, but what came out was a laugh, bubbling up before he realized. Another one followed it until it was uncontrollable and just shy of hysterical.

McCoy watched him, expression growing ever more wary. He was probably trying to pinpoint where he had left the nearest sedative. Jim was in no mood to be hypo'd.

"Well," he said, laughter dying down, "you're not gonna believe this one, Bones. Turns out Mister Spock needs to get laid."

McCoy's expression was priceless, a mixture of revulsion and bemusement; he never liked to hear details of Jim's relationship with Spock, understandably enough. "Aren't you, uh..." Jim would have loved this, any other time, "I mean, if memory serves, you're no slouch in that department."

Jim scoffed. "It's some... mating drive."

The corner of McCoy's mouth curled up in a funny little grin. "No... seriously?"

"Seriously. And here's the hilarious part." Jim leaned forward, over the desk. "Vulcans get really violent during this, and both of him are pretty sure he would kill me if I took care of it, so we're on our way to the colony - still - to find him another mate."

McCoy's smile faded. "Another mate."

"Yeah. He's gonna marry her - Sarek's setting it all up - so we're completely over. Then he'll come back here totally fine and start working again."

McCoy stared. "Over?"

"S'what I said, yeah." Jim spun in the chair. "Where's the bourbon I'm not supposed to know you keep in here?"

"Screw the bourbon." McCoy stepped forward and shoved Jim's chair over, tugging open the bottom drawer on the left side of the desk. He emerged with a curved rose-colored bottle and two shot glasses.

"Why Bones, you do care."

"Anyone asks you, this is Scotty's," McCoy told him, popping out the cork.

"And he keeps it in your desk."

"That's right."

"Sneaky of him."

"Yeah, well," McCoy handed him a filled glass, "he's a sneaky bastard."

Jim gave a noncommittal _mmph_ , downing the shot in one gulp with what he thought was going to look like practiced ease, but fuck, it burned, and he could not help the cough that escaped him. McCoy smacked at his back as he drank his own.

"Bracing, ain't it?"

Jim just clanked the glass back onto the desk, ready for more, and McCoy arched a reluctant eyebrow at him. "Don't give me that look. I'm not on duty 'til the morning. Detox me after, for all I care."

His friend's lips pressed together in some watered down form of exasperation, but he obediently poured another shot into Jim's glass. "Just be careful," he cautioned. "It'll go right to your head before you even realize it."

Jim swallowed the drink, glaring at the glass. "Good," he said, swiping a thumb over it.

 

* * *

 

McCoy did not, in fact, detox him, but he did help Jim to flop onto the couch in his office after he had had his fill of Romulan Ale. Jim did not want to try to sleep with a clear head and McCoy had conceded that since no one could get a hold of Jim in his quarters anyway, that here was as good a place as any.

He sighed and tucked a throw blanket around Jim's shoulders. He snatched the small trashcan from under his desk. "I'm putting this here in case," he told Jim. "You do anything, it can just go down the chute in the morning."

Jim shouldered himself down into the cushions. "Yur good fren."

"Yeah, yeah." McCoy patted at his head and then hesitated, fingers hovering. "... I'm sorry, Jim."

"S'okay," Jim murmured to his square pillow, eyes slipping closed. "Too good to last..."

After a moment, there was another scratch at his head, and then the sound of McCoy leaving. The lights fell to zero percent.

Jim dreamed then, things he would not remember come morning, of playing hide-and-seek with Spock, through a cornfield back in Iowa. He never found him.

 

* * *

 

Jim was on the Bridge when the _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp.

There were only so many duties or things to be monitored while in orbit, even fewer of which could not be left up to someone else, he knew this. But the alternative was seeing Spock off the ship.

A large part of him wanted to. It would, after all, be the last time he would be seeing Spock as his own, to say whatever needed to be said. Spock would surely not want to discuss it - them - upon his return. It would be inappropriate once he was married to someone else and Spock was always appropriate.

The other part of him - just as large - wanted to stay as far away from the situation as possible, for fear of being unable to hold back some embarrassing display. Here, in command, he was just that, but down there with Spock, he would not consider himself above begging. There was an image, in his mind, of him clinging to Spock's knees by the transporter pad. It was neither flattering nor productive.

 _Kaiidth_.

He wondered if this was the sort of thing where he was expected to go down. Would the waiting Vulcan party be expecting to see him? Or was this such a private matter that they would be offended by a Human presence? Worst of all, was he expected to hand Spock over officially, considering what they were to each other? Did they even know about that? Would he have to tell them?

Surely not. They had never bonded.

Would Spock expect him to be there? Perhaps he wanted the goodbye scene; he could be somewhat sentimental for someone so allegedly against emotions. Of course, surely Spock would understand if Jim did not.

Would understand if Jim _could_ not.

They had been in orbit an hour, with three hours still to go on alpha shift, when the turbolift doors opened and McCoy stepped on the Bridge. Jim tensed in his chair immediately. He knew why the doctor was there, and he was not ready for it. Not here. If the personal bled into this room, there would be no coming back from it.

McCoy did not even pretend nonchalance. He approached Jim, gripped the back of his chair, and leaned down to his level. "He's ready to go," he said in Jim's ear. "I think you should come with me."

Jim shifted in his seat. "I'm on duty," he threw behind him.

McCoy's hand migrated to his shoulder. "Jim," he said, "I don't want you to wish you hadn't stayed up here."

Jim swallowed, eyes fixed on the viewing screen. McCoy's fingers squeezed.

Jim rose to his feet before he could stop himself and turned toward the lift without glancing at his friend.

"Mister Sulu, you have the conn."

He did not wait for a response and the doors slid shut. McCoy did not say anything until Jim did.

"Where is he?"

The doctor glanced to him, watching Jim not look at him. "The transporter room. Says Sarek has everyone waiting. Including T'Pau - did you know that?"

"Someone mentioned it when she was onboard during the _Narada_ incident." The corner of Jim's lips tilted up in a wistful smile before he could check it. "I remember being pissed. Wasn't enough that he was perfect, the asshole had to be important too."

McCoy snorted a laugh.

Jim's smile faded. "Hey, Bones?"

"Hm?"

"How did you do this?"

McCoy looked at him again and Jim purposely still refrained from meeting his eyes, afraid he was asking to see pity in them. McCoy sighed. "I didn't," he said. "I was ready for the break when it came - hell, eager. Afraid I can't give you advice for this one, kid. You're just gonna have to wing it."

Jim scoffed. "Wing it."

"Yeah." McCoy slapped at his shoulder again. "Lucky for us," he said as the doors opened, "s'what you're best at."

 

* * *

 

Spock was beside the pad, back to the door when they arrived. He did not turn when they entered.

Jim heard McCoy clear his throat. "Hey, Scotty," he said, not at all subtly. "I got something to talk to you about. Out, um... in the hall." He gestured back the way he and Jim had come.

Scotty caught Jim's eye for a moment. "O' course," he said. "In the hall." Like this was a normal occurrence. He stepped away from the control pad and followed McCoy out, door automatically shutting behind them.

Neither Jim nor Spock moved.

"You feel all right?" was the first thing Jim could think to say, because maybe he should not be getting too close. "I mean, not... but the fever's still..."

Spock's shoulders were all that moved. "I have spent my time off-duty in meditation," he said. "The fever has not come yet."

Jim had not seen Spock at all in a day and a half. It was not unheard of, given their jobs, but hardly customary. Now he would be gone for two weeks, and even his return would not be joyous.

But he would return. Sarek would see to it.

Jim's breathing was going funny, he could feel it, frightening like the burst of nausea before vomiting. He took a questioning step forward. "Can I touch you?" Touching Spock fixed everything, a perfect anchor. As long as he could take advantage of that, he would.

Spock still did not turn. "Perhaps unwise," he eventually said, "... but not impossible."

Jim wanted to run, but he walked, and rather slowly at that. Spock tensed further with every step, but for once, Jim did not believe it had anything to do with the _pon farr_. Spock was standing too closely to the pad to step around, so Jim reached for his shoulder and urged him to turn.

Jim did not let go when he did. He brought his other hand to Spock's other shoulder, spreading his fingers and feeling as both drifted up and along Spock's neck. It took Jim nosing along his cheek to get Spock to reach for him, and when he did, he drew Jim closer, as close as possible, grip near painful. Jim could feel handfuls of his shirt being grasped at his back and he tightened his own hold, unsure what else to do.

Jim wondered inanely if he would ever be close enough to smell Spock again. He would miss that too, if not.

"I, uh..." He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down a sob. "God." He turned his nose into Spock's ear. "I need to say some things to you, okay? And you'll just have to forgive me if it makes you uncomfortable."

Spock's fingers twisted in his shirt, nose warm against Jim's neck.

"First, I'm, um... sorry. For the way I treated you at first."

"Jim-"

"Don't do that. Let me finish and then I'll give you a turn."

He felt Spock's lips twitch against his skin.

"I don't just mean how I got command anyway, I mean all of it. I was a jackass to you for... well. A long time. Even after we started working together. A lot of that was just that you're so fun to annoy, but, uh... still sorry."

He felt Spock swallow. "Apology accepted."

"I figure you've taken enough shit over the course of your life without getting it from me, so... just so we're clear here... you are... the best person I know." Jim stared at the wall over Spock's shoulder. He had no speech to make, he said what came to mind and nothing more. He would surely discover later that he had missed something and regret it, but that could not be helped. "And maybe considering the people I grew up with and that the crew is mostly Human, you're not going to take that as much of a compliment, but..." He smirked. "I figure you at least value my own opinion by now. And it's not about following rules for you, like I thought it was at first, or like it is for all the rest of them; you're just... actually that decent. And that's made me a better captain and a better man. Made me _want_ to be a better man. I'm glad I'm at least not losing that.

"As for the part I am losing..." Jim sighed and gathered himself again. "I know I told you I've spent my life avoiding it, and that's sort of true. But mostly... I just didn't think this existed. And now I know... I don't feel so alone anymore. I can't tell you what that's meant to me." He trailed his thumbs along the tips of Spock's ears. "There's never going to be anyone like you again."

"Jim." He felt Spock's fingers cup the back of his head. "You owe me no such promise."

"Wasn't a promise," Jim said. "I just know."

"Well, then," Spock replied. "... Likewise."

Perhaps the correct reaction would have been tears, but it was just so _like_ Spock, to let Jim make a scene and then give nothing more than a monosyllabic response which somehow managed to convey just as much, and he wound up chuckling instead. He rubbed his forehead against Spock's shoulder, the velour pleasingly smooth.

"Have I said something humorous?" Spock inquired, sounding genuinely confused, and it simmered Jim down to a fading grin.

"No," he said, hands sliding down to Spock's chest. Spock's hands were still at his waist and in his hair. "No, just... nothing." He lifted his head and took a step back, though Spock did not release him. "Your father's waiting," Jim made himself say. Spock's eyes dropped down. "You, uh... just you, or should we..." Hadn't the ambassador said that himself and McCoy had accompanied him?

Spock shook his head. "Preferable, but not necessary," he said. His fingers moved against Jim's scalp. "I would not ask it of you."

Jim gave a brief, bitter smile. "Good." He glanced at the transporter pad and his tongue felt heavy.

Spock's hand moved to his jaw, drawing his eyes again. "... May I kiss you?" he asked with such innocence it made Jim's chest ache. But he could feel nothing but gratitude that Spock currently felt in control enough to allow them that.

His breath escaped him in a rush and he nodded jerkily, jaw trembling.

Spock pressed their mouths together, Jim's bottom lip fitting between both of his, supple and perfect. No, it had not been a promise. Nothing would ever fit like this again.

Spock's fingers, either instinctively or nostalgically, found the meld points, and when Jim felt only the brush of his skin and not his mind, he could not breathe. He pulled back, fingers clenching in the collar of Spock's shirt, chest giving a violent heave that it took all of his attention to suppress.

"Scotty," he called, and he was far from ready, but he was never going to be, and there was only so much he could endure. He stepped back again and Spock let him this time.

Jim stared at the floor and the doors whooshed open again. There were two pairs of slow footsteps.

"All ready t'go, then?"

Spock turned and slowly stepped up onto the pad and Jim felt a hand settle on his shoulder as Scotty made his way to the controls.

"Well, Mister Spock," McCoy said, almost right in his ear. "Good luck."

Spock regarded them for a moment. "Both wishing and the concept of luck are illogical, Doctor."

Jim felt McCoy's smile. "My mistake," he said. He shifted at Jim's back. "I guess we'll see you in a few weeks."

"Indeed." Jim knew his eyes had turned to him then, but he did not meet them. Spock stood straighter and looked to Scotty. "Energize."

McCoy's fingers squeezed as they had on the Bridge and Jim shut his eyes against the blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, guys. :)


	5. Part V

Jim had never had a staff meeting without Spock.

He hated them anyway; he liked touching base with the senior staff, but many complaints had already been made to him personally by the time they made it to the table publicly. Were his crew the common sort, Jim would no doubt have been bored to tears weekly. As if the paperwork were not enough.

He glanced to the lieutenant seated at his left, studiously taking notes and Jim resisted the urge to pry the stylus from his hands. Jim had gone into Spock's quarters last night, absolutely _not_ to see if he had left him anything, and had returned to his own with only the data discs the Vulcan had mentioned before his departure. This Lieutenant Munroe had been near the top of the list of potential science officer replacements.

Not that that mattered now. Spock was coming back.

"Jim," he heard McCoy say and it was only once Jim turned from Munroe to him that he realized he had the attention of the table, that McCoy's prompt had most likely come after someone else's, perhaps more than one. Jim was rarely distracted for official business, and yet not one person looked surprised. He hated close quarters now; no better than small towns.

He cleared his throat and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right. Uh... how long will it take to repair that turbine?"

"Turb _ines_ , Captain," Scotty huffed, though surely at the situation, not at Jim's attitude. "And a week longer, with th' science department eatin' up my staff."

Eyes turned to Lieutenant Munroe and he looked up, much as Jim had a moment ago, as if surprised at suddenly being the center of attention, and more importantly, like he did not know what to do with it.

He glanced from the rest to Jim. "We need those people, Captain."

Jim waved him off. "I know."

Scotty leaned forward. "Shouldn't repairs take precedence over th' labs? We need this now - not th' research."

"The research is why we're even out here, Scotty." There was little conviction in Jim's voice though, just a statement of fact. He stared at the table.

"With all due respect, sir," Scotty said, "tell that t' th' decks that can currently only do sonics."

Jim snorted a laugh in spite of himself that McCoy, in the corner of his eye, looked pleased to see. "Fine," he said. "Munroe, divert anyone you've taken from Engineering in the past month, at least those from Hydraulics, back to Mister Scott for one week. He takes any longer, you can complain again."

Munroe looked decidedly displeased, but he merely bent his head to scribble another note.

Jim waited. No one said anything.

"Is that it?" he asked, slightly surprised. They had only been at it an hour. He hoped people were not withholding issues in deference to his perceived mood. They all glanced around like children in a class room who had been asked who had caused the trouble; waiting for anyone else to speak up. Jim shrugged. "All right," he said. "ETA to Altair VI, Mister Sulu?"

"Uh..." Sulu twiddled his own stylus. "When we left the Bridge, twenty hours, so seventeen point five? Early alpha shift tomorrow. The, uh..." He glanced warily to McCoy, "the other two ships arrived day before yesterday."

As would they have, had they not diverted. Jim turned away so he would not glare at Sulu. "Good," he said, clipped. "Okay, then." He looked up. "Dismissed, everyone."

He and Spock usually lingered and then left together. Jim would be dining alone tonight. Yet he still found himself staying, remaining seated as everyone gathered their PADDs and effects and made for the door, a few chatting among themselves. McCoy placed a questioning hand on Jim's shoulder as he stood, and Jim politely shrugged him off, nodding his well-being at him.

Jim sighed and ran a hand back through his hair as the room cleared and when he looked up, reaching for his own things, Uhura was still present, now seated in the chair McCoy had abandoned. He jumped, involuntarily.

"Sorry," she said.

Jim regarded her warily. "S'okay," he said, moving to stand.

"Captain," she said as he did and he winced. He was in no mood to explain to her what Spock was doing back on the colony, and surely that was her goal. "Permission to speak freely?"

He was unsure why that was necessary for her question, but he sighed again and flopped back into his chair. "Granted," he said, hand already moving back to his forehead. He was so tired.

Uhura leaned forward, fingers lacing on the table. "Did you know," she began, and it drew Jim's eyes from under his hand because he had been expecting to share, not be shared with, "when Spock and I separated, we didn't intend it to be permanent?"

Though Jim again did not understand where she was going with this, he had indeed been aware of that. If something was relevant, Spock shared it, and that had been relevant. Actually that fact (when combined with Spock's decency) had been the bane of Jim's existence for a good three weeks of denial about a year ago.

"Yeah," he said, "actually."

She nodded, jaw tense. "After Vulcan, I could see it was too much. I offered to wait," she explained, like he did not know this, and maybe she thought Spock had not gone into details with him. "And I have to say, I didn't see you coming." She shook her head, more at herself than him, he thought. "Or maybe I did, I don't know."

Jim wondered if she was seeking an apology with this. He was in no mood and was not sure he quite knew how regarding such an old wound; she was going to have to ask outright, if that was the case.

"My point is, I spent a lot of time mad at you."

Jim stared at her. "Fair enough."

"So, you don't really deserve this," she said. "But you are my friend, and I do realize you're not actually a complete dick, so I'm going to offer anyway."

"... Praise, indeed."

"I've been there, is all," she said, bypassing his sarcasm. "So, if you need to talk," And she met his eyes rather than glaring at her hands, "you can come to me."

Jim stared at her some more, duly impressed, and if he was honest with himself, more than a little touched. Especially considering he had been expecting quite a different conversation. He had with Uhura somewhat the sort of relationship McCoy had with Spock, affection veiled by a front of annoyance and tolerance. He was unaccustomed to lifting that veil. It was kind of nice. It hardly mattered that he would most likely never take her up on that offer.

"Uhura," he said, and he reached to place his hand over the closest of hers, "you're a far better man than me."

 _Thank you._

She smirked and rubbed her thumb over his fingers. "Damn straight."

 _You're welcome._

He released her hand wistfully and she stood, smoothing her skirt. "Dinner?" she offered.

Jim gave her a rueful smile. "Raincheck."

She nodded like she understood that he meant exactly that: not tonight, but soon. Then she left with the same pat to his shoulder McCoy had given.

Jim stared at the table, acutely feeling the empty seat on his left.

 

* * *

 

The inauguration was boring, but distracting, and that was really all Jim could expect from diplomatic missions. All of this was Spock and Uhura's department, not his; it was his job to show up and play nice.

Plus a grumbling McCoy in a dress uniform - serious bonus.

"Someone, someday is going to have to explain to me," aforementioned doctor said to him, handing Jim a flute of champagne and sipping at his own, "just why exactly the Federation needs more than one ship present at events like this."

"Consequences of being the flagship, Bones." Jim downed half the glass in one swallow.

"Yeah? And when do we see the benefits?"

Jim smirked around the rim of his glass. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I don't mind my paycheck."

"I wouldn't mind yours either."

It was most likely said to get a laugh out of Jim, and it worked. Honestly, by this point, particularly with the fame the entire _Enterprise_ crew had been endowed with (albeit himself and Spock more obviously), McCoy could no doubt plow his talents and degree in more fertile fields, and they both knew it. But Starfleet had become home, as had the _Enterprise_. As had Jim.

"Captain," Jim heard exclaimed off to his left, and they both turned to an approaching, and if Jim had to guess, slightly tipsy Kevin Riley. He grinned at them, lifting his own drink in greeting, and slipped an easy arm around Jim's shoulders. Jim grinned, amused, but weaseled the glass from his hand.

"I think that's enough for one night, Lieutenant," he said, hoping the smile he could not suppress was not undermining his authority. He handed the flute off to McCoy. "We're not here to embarrass ourselves."

Riley mumbled agreement, and then gestured off across the room with his now free hand. "Sir," he said. "You see that woman over there?"

Jim looked where Riley was pointing, toward the new president's table, where his wife, children, and several of his staff were seated. There had to be at least five women at the table, but one was discreetly watching them. Jim assumed Riley meant her.

"Yes," he said.

"The president's personal assistant," Riley explained. "She's done nothing but stare at you since we've arrived."

Jim's smile and curiosity both abruptly disappeared and he allowed Riley to hold himself up, taking another drink. "Kind of you, Lieutenant," he said. He nodded at McCoy. "But I brought my own wingman."

"Riley, why don't you come with me," McCoy suggested, stepping around Jim to tug him away. "We'll get you some water."

Riley seemed perfectly pleased with this idea and Jim did not have the heart to tell him that "water" in this scenario probably meant "hypospray." He allowed McCoy to lead him away and watched them go before turning to observe the woman. He would guess a few years older than himself, and she was Human, as far as he could tell, not unattractive. He moved through the crowd back to the table of refreshments to bring himself out of her line of sight.

He missed Spock. It was there all the time, in the back of his throat, inescapable, and all he knew to do was ignore it. He had no clue how to go about fixing it, no practice at a broken heart. He felt like a dumbass even calling it that, no matter how apt the term; he was clearly not suited.

But there it was, all the same. A phantom limb he constantly kept reaching to scratch. He had turned, looking for Spock's subtle amusement or advice more times than he could count in the Vulcan's absence, and it had not even been a week.

And sleeping alone was not the same anymore.

It was like it had been when, in his early teens, Jim had realized that Riverside did not really feel like home anymore, and yet had had no other to replace it with. At least not then. He was beginning to think that no home was meant to last. What was he going to do in three years when he not only did not have Spock, but the _Enterprise_? Return to San Francisco and rot behind a desk? Live in a one bedroom apartment, alone? Marry a nice woman and have kids? Maybe the thought would be pleasant one day, but Jim currently found it as nauseating as the assistant's gaze.

It seemed overdramatic to imagine he would never get over this, and he had begun telling himself so, daily. But the presence of the elder Spock in this timeline, his fated assurances and talk of destiny, made it difficult to believe. And even if Jim could, it would be impossible to get over Spock so long as he was seeing him daily, living right beside him.

Jim froze beside the Altair sandwich array. What if Spock insisted transfer was the only logical solution to that problem? He felt sick at the thought.

"Feelin' all right, Captain?"

Jim turned to Scotty, who was happily munching on a sandwich of his own. Jim smiled at that, thinking of their first meeting, but that only brought about thoughts of the ambassador. The phantom limb twitched again.

"Too much to drink," he said, lifting his empty glass and forcing a tight smile. It was an empty excuse; Jim was fairly evenly matched with the engineer when it came to holding his liquor and Scotty was well aware of that, knew mere champagne was unlikely to conquer Jim. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately at times, most of the senior staff had inferred the nature of Jim and Spock's relationship not long after they had discovered it themselves - some sooner. Scotty would leave him his illusions.

And he did, clapping at Jim's shoulder as he went. He was getting tired of people who knew him too well doing that.

 

* * *

 

"Hey," McCoy said, all friendly like, and as soon as the word was out of his mouth, Jim wished he had not let him in. He glanced up at his friend and then quickly returned his eyes to the PADD on his desk, stylus flicking as McCoy approached. "Workin'?"

Jim looked up again, long enough to look unimpressed. "I'm told that's what they expect me to do here."

"They expect a lot of things you don't do."

It was half a joke, but Jim was in no mood. "Yeah, well, someone's gotta do it." And Spock was not there to pick up the slack. He did not say it, but he was certain McCoy heard it.

"I guess." He lowered himself into the chair opposite Jim. "Just seems like you've been doin' a lot of it, the past couple of weeks."

"There's a lot to do."

"I know that. Jim-" Bravely, in Jim's opinion, McCoy reached out and placed a hand over Jim's own, halting his writing. Jim gave him his attention, but made no secret of his annoyance in his expression. "There are worse things to lose yourself in, to be sure. I just thought it was about time I made sure you were all right."

"About time?" Jim said, skeptical. "You've been asking one way or another every day."

"And you've brushed it off every day. I thought I'd corner you."

Jim tugged his PADD back and out from under McCoy's grip, returning to it. "And you know how I love when you do that."

"Spock comes home tomorrow."

Home, Jim thought. It was an odd term for McCoy to use, odder still now. "I know that." Though, of course, McCoy knew he knew that.

"Work's fine for now. It'll be a little harder once he's right next door again."

"Bones," Jim abandoned his stylus, exasperated, "what do you want me to do about that? I'm just... doing what I know to do. Okay?"

"I just meant," McCoy said, "that the point of this whole... _thing_ , was for him to come back. Which, you know. Means business as usual. Including you two." Jim met his eyes and McCoy looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Er... mostly."

Jim scoffed. "Somehow, I don't think Spock will have a problem with that."

"None we see, anyway," McCoy said, and it was unfair of Jim not to acknowledge that, they both knew. "And we're talking about you."

Jim's eyes drifted down to his desk again. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Or burn it." Jim shot him a warning glare. "If the idea was not to lose him - don't; all I'm sayin'."

"I don't intend to."

"Well, then... good."

"And if it takes time, and it will," Jim leaned forward, "I don't want you knocking on my door day after day reminding me to get on it."

"Time, I'll allow," McCoy agreed. "Stupidity, I won't. Or I'm a poor excuse for a friend." Jim did not dispute that and the doctor stood. "Poker night, tonight."

"I know."

"Pretty sure Chekov and Sulu missed you last week," McCoy hedged. "You play a far more captivating game than me, I'm told."

"Well, in all fairness," Jim said, and he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a smirk, "that's not very difficult."

"So, you'll join, then." Like it was not a question. "Might do you good."

It might very well. Jim glanced down to his desk, smile gone. "I have work to do."

"Spock will want to return to the Bridge as soon as he's back," McCoy informed him. "You won't be able to hide out in here tomorrow."

"Which is why," Jim said, meeting his friend's eyes, "I need tonight."

McCoy studied him for a moment, but Jim already knew his answer would be acquiescence. His lips pursed, clearly holding back an unproductive retort, then he sighed and nodded, and headed for the door, mumbling to himself. When the door shut behind him, Jim leaned forward across his desk again, running his hands over his face and back into his short hair.

Spock would be home tomorrow. Spock was already married; had already made love to his new wife. Spock would be home tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The punching bag was really far too resilient for Jim's tastes. People bled, breakable things could be destroyed, but there was little satisfaction to be had in this. But the only other option was a sparring partner, and the true harm he wished to cause, it would not be appropriate to inflict on a crewmember.

He missed Spock, even here. It had been a good year since Jim had sparred regularly with a Human; no doubt there were few on-board who could now keep up. Of course, Spock would be back today. And this activity, they could still participate in, granted with some potential for awkwardness.

Jim kicked at the bag, nearly knocking it loose of the heavy hook from which it was suspended.

He really needed a more productive - or at least less destructive - method of venting his frustrations. Violence was borne of habit, developed at a time of little control, when nothing but screaming and fists was even registered by others. He should be above that. He was an adult, and even if the personal scale was meaningless to his family, he outranked his mother now.

Jim snorted at the thought.

How did others keep their emotional equilibrium? McCoy drank and worked - neither of which sounded healthy to Jim in excess, even if he would not classify the doctor as particularly _un_ healthy. Spock meditated. It hardly seemed Jim's style, and even had it been, he would require instruction, and sitting in a quiet room with Spock with nothing between them but what they were not saying, Jim could only imagine as a personal hell right now.

It took Jim a moment to register the intercom, beeping for attention, over the hard packing sounds of his wrapped fists. He took a moment to let his breathing even out, hands on his hips, then crossed to it, flicking the knob.

"Kirk here," he said.

" _Sir, there's a signal from an approaching Federation long-range shuttle_ ," he heard, and it must have been Lieutenant Farrell, from the sound of him. " _Commander Spock is requesting to come alongside and lock on._ "

Still breathing heavily, Jim squeezed his eyes shut.

"... _Shall I activate the tractor beam, sir?_ "

Jim swallowed. "Yes," he said. "Bring him in, Mister Farrell."

" _Aye, sir._ "

Jim cut the transmission and numbly moved to snatch his shirt from where he had deposited it on a nearby bench. There would be no time for a shower; he had mere minutes before Spock was on-board again. Painful though it would be, Jim wanted him in his line of sight again, to watch him move, hear his voice, perhaps even reach out and touch his shoulder.

He left the gym and headed for the turbolift, unwrapping his hands as he went. "Deck sixteen," he instructed as soon as he was inside, and it pulled downward at the command.

He took the few free moments he had to breathe more. What would he say when he saw Spock? What would Spock say when he saw him? Perhaps Jim should have picked McCoy up along the way for moral support; he was doubting his ability to face this alone. He was unsure how to operate around Spock now. Their interactions would no longer be easy, at least not for some time yet, and it had been a while since he had been uneasy with Spock. It had taken them so long to get where they were; Jim dreaded returning to what they had been.

The lift halted and its doors slid open. Jim stepped out and moved for the upper shuttlecraft hanger. This path, albeit in the opposite direction, had been the first he had walked aboard the _Enterprise_ , two years ago.

It sounded like such a short period, when he really thought about it, for so much to have happened in.

He arrived early, as it turned out. He had to wait outside the hanger door for the life support systems to rebalance after the open airlock. Uhura and an ensign from Engineering, manning the controls, were the only others present. She looked up at Jim's approach.

"I didn't think you were on duty," he greeted her.

"I wasn't. I'm... not." She shrugged, facing the metal door again and peeking through the thick, circular window. "Farrell called me." She glanced at him. "Guess he called you too. This why you're up?"

Days had bled together recently. Jim sighed. "Is it late?" he asked, and he half meant it. It must have been, now he thought about it, Farrell worked gamma shift as often as Uhura and he himself worked alpha. The new Vulcan planet's rotation and ship's time were far from similar; no doubt Spock would have to readjust. "I just was."

There was a hissing pop and the ensign waved them through. They entered slowly. The shuttle looked dormant and still, waiting.

Jim nearly clutched at Uhura's hand when the hatch dropped, but he swallowed the instinct.

Seeing Spock when he finally descended was different than Jim had imagined it would be. Several scenarios had played out in his head, from Spock informing him marriage had not been necessary after all, to him walking right past Jim without a word. He had expected theatrics at one pole or another, and now, he could not remember why. It had been a childish thing to expect.

Spock approached them stiffly, looking tired from the shuttle ride. He halted before them and nodded to each of them in turn. "Lieutenant." And to Jim, "Captain." And if his eyes lingered on him a few seconds longer than Uhura, it was all Jim received that was out of the ordinary.

Jim's tongue darted over his lips. "Welcome home, Mister Spock."

It had felt like the right thing to say, but the moment it was out of his mouth, Jim understood that it was clearly quite wrong. Spock's expression, perhaps lax with fatigue before, tightened into a mask. "Thank you, Captain," he said.

A bizarre flash of memory shot across the back of Jim's eyes; Spock kissing him, inside him, fingers brushing his face, superimposed over Spock's stoic face now, dichotomized beautifully and horribly. It felt strange and unsettling, like the wired buzz of true exhaustion. Jim felt like he could not hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

He swallowed. "Everything go all right?" he forced out. Even Uhura tensed at his side.

Spock's only faltering was his clear hesitation. "My trip was... successful."

It took Jim some time to gather himself after that. He had not realized he had been clinging to a shred of hope that this would end up merely some nightmare until it was snatched from him. Successful.

"... You should get some sleep," he suggested.

Spock blinked. "On the contrary, Captain, I slept just sixteen point five three eight hours previously." He glanced off, out the door behind them. "No doubt the Bridge is currently manned; perhaps I could be of some use in the labs until alpha shift commences."

Jim cleared his throat. "Munroe'll be happy to see you; he could use the help." Ship's business was a far easier topic.

"I'll walk you up," Uhura offered, her first words of the encounter. "I'm heading to the comm labs anyway."

Spock arched a skeptical eyebrow. "It is oh two fifty-three, ship's time," he reminded her.

Uhura shrugged a shoulder, and Jim got the feeling that whether or not he had been waiting up for Spock, she certainly had. "So I can't sleep," she said. She jerked her head over her shoulder. "Walk with me. We'll let the captain get to bed."

Jim had no clue what her plan was, but he did not doubt that it would put Spock at ease, and he would not protest that. "Yeah," he agreed, and he dared to meet Spock's eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Spock held his gaze a moment, and then nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Mister Spock."

Jim had been looking at his chin as he said this and Spock lingered briefly, as though he wanted to see his eyes again one more time before he left. But Jim kept his downcast and after a moment, Spock passed him and Uhura turned from his side to accompany him. Part of him wanted to follow, hear what she planned to speak about. The other part knew he did not need to know.

He returned to his quarters, both under and overwhelmed.


	6. Part VI

The Bridge shift the next morning was uneventful, which was annoying on any given day, but particularly so on this one.

As much as Jim had felt Spock's absence burning at his back in recent weeks, he now felt his presence; just as, if not more distracting. He had been checking the urge to turn to him for the comfort of eye contact since his departure, but now he maintained that rule for fear of being presented with nothing but the Vulcan's back. He would hear Spock's voice occasionally, speaking to a crewmember in low tones. Perhaps he was waiting for Jim to speak to _him_. If things went on like this, he would. But he was not ready today.

He wanted to touch Spock. Badly. He had been away from him for two weeks before, had even received, in essence, the same sort of greeting upon a return, but usually by now, the next morning, there had been sex. Lots of sex. The idea that his fingers had not even brushed Spock's skin in the past sixteen days felt drastically insufficient. His nails were scraping at the arm of his chair with the urge.

Later, in the officer's mess (which Jim had not set foot in for the duration of Spock's trip, yet did that night, much as it _pained_ him, so as not to alienate his first officer), Uhura plunked her tray down across from him and sat, looking expectant. Jim looked up, still chewing, and raised both eyebrows at her.

"Spock's taking his meal in his quarters," she informed him and Jim carefully swallowed.

"Oh," he said, and he meant it to be a question, a prompt for her to continue, but it only came out sounding dejected, even to his own ears. He glanced up again. "He tell you that?"

"No. Just know him."

"And I don't?"

Uhura stared at him, unimpressed. "Jim," she said, and he was unsure he had ever heard his first name out of her pretty mouth. It was like popping an inflating balloon. "Imagine how much trouble you're having-" she said.

"Don't have to," Jim grumbled to his food.

"-And then imagine you think it's your fault," she went on and Jim paused. "And that you're afraid the other person might too. And that you're Vulcan."

Jim took a moment to be duly chastised, and then sat back, abandoning his fork. "How much did he tell you?" He felt righteously indignant, though he was unsure of the righteous part.

"None of this," she assured him. "Out loud, anyway."

Jim returned to his food after a moment, tearing his roll into little pieces. He could hear her hesitation before she even leaned forward again.

"... Her name is T'Pid."

Jim tossed the hunk of bread aside and sat back again. "I don't want to hear this," he told her firmly.

Uhura held her hands up and it might have looked defensive on someone else, but on her, it was the movement of someone trying to calm an animal ready to bound away at the slightest movement. "I just thought you might want to know some of these things... but might not want to ask Spock yet."

He understood where Uhura was coming from; he might have even done the same for a friend, himself. She was trying to make it easier for him and he was grateful. But in no way did he want to talk to Spock, who for the past year had been closer to him than anyone in the universe, through someone else. He knew things could not return to normal, at least not right away, but if he was making the attempt, he expected it of Spock as well. Or McCoy was right - they would lose each other. Uhura could only impede their communication this way, even if her goal was the exact opposite.

"Uhura," he said. "I get it, I do, and... thanks. And I'm glad you're there for Spock, and that you've made sure I know the same goes for me. But let me do this in my own time?"

She blinked like a five-year-old had just explained compound fractions to her, and Jim did not know whether to be amused or insulted. "... Okay," she said.

She never did expect him to handle anything like an adult. Jim was not sure he could blame her for that, but perhaps he should make it a personal goal to prove his maturity to her more than twice a year.

"Thanks," he said again, and then stood, gathering his tray to empty and not caring that he was only half-finished; he wasn't hungry anymore. "Actually gonna take care of some of that now, if you're okay alone?"

She nodded. "There's Scotty," she told him, eyes flicking off over his shoulder, and he peeked himself to confirm this. "I'm good."

"Good." Jim gave her a little wave and nodded at the engineer as he passed him on his way out. He dumped the contents of his tray and then headed for the hallway, stride purposeful. Spock might avoid him forever, if he let him and that was dangerous to the flow of ship operations, if nothing else.

By the time he had reached his first officer's quarters, he had worked himself up enough to be mad that the door's codec made knocking unnecessary; he kind of wanted to bang on something right about now. Before, as long as he did not think he would have been interrupting anything, he would have felt free to walk right in, and the fact that he could not now (or could, but _should_ not), only angered him more. He pressed the button. _Really_ hard.

" _Come,_ " he heard after a moment, and even the two seconds it took for the door to slide open frustrated Jim.

Spock was seated at his desk when he entered, probably catching up on all he had missed. Jim had taken care of it all, but he would want to be up to date, he knew. A covered tray sat on the desk's left corner, untouched as of yet. Jim was looking at it when Spock looked up.

"Captain," he said, and Jim could read nothing in it. He wondered if Spock was surprised.

"You're eating in here," he said, inanely.

"I am."

Jim made himself think instead of yell. "Is that because you have a lot of work to do," he said, eyes darting to the stylus in Spock's hand, "or because of me?"

There was a definite hesitation. "Captain," Spock said, "I have been in your presence the majority of the day."

Which was not an answer. "That's different. You don't have to talk to me there."

"There are indeed several instances which would require-"

"Spock," Jim stressed. Spock met his eyes. "You don't have to talk to _me_ there."

Spock did not reply to that, and Jim took it as a concession.

He had come angry, and it still simmered beneath the surface, but now, looking at Spock, the need to touch him again overwhelmed it. Jim had to push it down.

 _Nam-tor du panu_ , Spock had murmured against his skin once, _you are my world_ , wrapped around him from behind, fingers tangling, the first time he had ever called him _t'hy'la_. Jim wanted to ask if it was still true, still could be. Spock would probably think emotional reassurance illogical, let alone now, when it would do no good for Jim to know whether it was true or not.

Jim sighed and stepped closer, lowering himself into the chair across from Spock, and leaning forward to lace his fingers together on his own end of the desk. When he did, Spock faltered for the first time, withdrawing his own to his lap, and too quickly to be natural, at that.

Jim watched the move and then shrugged, nonplussed. "Can't avoid me forever," he said.

Spock stared at his stylus. "It was not a... conscious effort."

"I believe you." Spock slowly placed his hands back on his desk, a good distance from Jim's, but he still wanted to reach for them. He actually caught himself staring for longer than was appropriate. "I think we should talk about this." His heart started beating faster the moment he had said it.

Spock's eyes were still on their hands as well. "I do not believe there is anything to discuss, Captain."

"Jim."

Spock looked up at him. "Captain," he repeated.

It _hurt_. Jim made himself speak again. "Spock. I don't know about Vulcans, but Humans generally require some measure of closure with this kind of emotional situation. I'm not saying it will change anything, just that talking might make us feel better about it." He shrugged. "Or me, at least."

Spock's brows drew together and it took Jim a moment to recognize the expression as offense. "Are you implying," he said, "that I am unaffected by our situation?"

Jim hesitated. Indignation on his own part was immediate, but then... was he? When he considered it, yes, it was possible he was. But all he said was, "Just that you'd deal with it better. Are you implying you're not?" A shitty and volatile way to go about obtaining that emotional reassurance, but the words were out of his mouth before he could check them. He waited.

"... Jim," Spock said this time, jaw tight, and his stomach leaped. "I understand that I have been less than forthcoming in regards to emotional expression over the course of our acquaintance." He swallowed. "But that is insulting. And unwarranted."

 _Less than I expect of the man I know_ , Jim remembered him telling him, in a far different situation where he had been needlessly risking his life, and that tone had not failed to make him feel like shit then either. He _really_ wanted to touch Spock's hand. "I know. I'm sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how to do this. I want to blame someone."

Spock was silent for a moment. "Illogical though the impulse is... I, too experience such an urge," he admitted quietly. Jim watched him, surprised. "... This is my doing."

"Spock." Jim shook his head. "This isn't anyone's doing."

"It was in my power to prevent, and so it is my doing," Spock insisted, like he was quoting sensor readings. He looked up. "Had I possessed the emotional fortitude to resist-"

"What about me?" Jim broke in. "It's not like you dragged me, kicking and screaming."

"I was aware of the _pon farr_. You were not."

Jim did not have an answer for that. He did not wish they had never acted on their feelings by any means, and yet, he could neither say that some part of him did _not_ hold Spock responsible for their current predicament.

"It doesn't matter," he eventually decided on. "None of that matters, now." What mattered was how they handled this, how they moved forward. And they did have to do that. "Uhura," Jim ventured, and Spock looked curious, "she told me her name."

Spock managed to look decidedly uncomfortable without moving a muscle.

"... What's she like?"

Spock thought for a moment, his diplomacy face on. "She is... high-born. Intelligent. Well mannered. I believe kind. She is well suited." Spock's gaze lowered to Jim's hands, still resting a foot from his on the desk. "And she is not you."

It was said almost as though that fact were a surprising disappointment; as if Spock had been expecting to find otherwise. Jim swiped at his mouth and sat back.

"Yeah, I can't do this," he said, and Spock looked relieved, or at least unsurprised. Jim shook his head at the room at large. "Maybe... but not now." He glanced to Spock's face. "I _really_ want to touch you," he informed him. "... So I'm going to go."

"I will... endeavor to take my meals in the officer's mess."

Jim nodded and stood, unsure if more was needed at first, before deciding that even if something was, he did not know what it was. So he left with only another nod to Spock, returning to his own quarters through the shared bathroom rather than the hall, where other people milled. He wanted no questions.

 

* * *

 

Jim knew Spock would be sleeping tonight; after working in the labs the previous one and the tiresome trip from the colony, it could not be avoided a second time. So for the first time in weeks, Jim lay upon his bed with the knowledge that Spock was right next door, doing the same. It felt utterly ridiculous to stare mindlessly at the overhead with Spock less than fifty feet away, perfectly aware that they both wanted to be sharing the same bed, telling himself they could not be. These were the sorts of seemingly illogical adult predicaments which children could not grasp. Jim wished to be young again.

He used the time to think. To truly consider the concept of the future, in this state, as more than a passing musing. They would have to continue on like this, the way they had today. When Jim imagined the full scope of that, _years_ of this, it was baffling. How could he - they - possibly do today, hundreds of times over?

And yet, there had been times in Jim's life, he knew, that he had pulled off things like this. Living with Frank, Tarsus IV, countless missions, and hell, inconsequential as it sounded, finals weeks at the Academy, all achieved by doing precisely _not_ that; by taking it one day at a time rather than considering the big picture. Looking back, he had no idea how he had gotten through any of them. But days had gone by. Then weeks. Then years. And he had.

He had wanted to, then. Now, it was different. Colors were dimmer, jokes were less funny, the volume on everything had been turned down. The bed was too big.

And he _could not sleep_.

He groaned, lamenting for the first time that the mattress in his quarters was a double, before shuffling over to Spock's side of the bed and flopping his face into the pillow that did not smell of him anymore.

 

* * *

 

A week passed in this way. Spock kept his promise to eat in the officer's mess when he could, though dinner for each of them only coincided with the other's schedule four nights of the seven, and on all of them, Spock ate alone. It was the way Jim knew he had preferred it at the beginning of the ship's mission anyway, and he also knew that were he to sit with him, Spock would not protest, but he never did and was confident that Spock understood this decision, was even satisfied with it for now.

On day three, Jim touched Spock for the first time in three weeks, quite on purpose, to bridge that gap so they might move beyond it. Rather than simply asking Spock to report when he had commented on long-range sensor readings that alpha shift, Jim had approached his station as he might have before this mess and bent over Spock's chair, placing a deliberate hand on his shoulder. The reaction was instantaneous. Spock's whole body tensed, posture screaming discomfort, and Jim flared a surge of apology before releasing his gentle grip. He declared the whole event a failed experiment.

On day four, McCoy gave Jim a look that implied he was supposed to know what to do with it. Jim did not ask questions.

On day six, Jim really ate with Uhura, like he had said he would. He came to the conclusion that she would have made fine company had it not been one of the nights that Spock had been present, drawing her concerned gaze when she thought Jim was not looking.

On day seven, just before leaving the Bridge at the end of shift, Jim asked Spock if he would like to play chess that evening, again on purpose. Spock had looked over his shoulder, clearly taken aback, but had accepted, probably more for appearance's sake than true appreciation of the invitation.

Jim now sat, waiting in his quarters. It was four minutes to twenty-two hundred, their designated meeting time, and Spock was never late. He would be there in four minutes. And Jim had no idea what to do with him once he got there. They had been known to sit in silence during a game, entirely focused on strategy, but he had a feeling that would not fly tonight. If they did not talk, it would not be an easy silence, it would feel like they were trying not to. Jim had actually debated for a bit whether or not to make a list of appropriate topics before abandoning the idea.

The buzzer chimed and Jim jumped like he had not been waiting for it. "Come," he said, standing and smoothing his basic blacks, already beyond uncomfortable.

Spock did not look much better when he appeared. Hands clasped behind his back, he came to stand just inside the door, gaze darting back and forth between Jim and the chessboard, warily. "Good evening, Captain," he said.

"Evening." Jim pulled Spock's chair out for him, like usual. "Please," he said.

Spock approached more easily than he had entered, taking a quick survey of the room as he did. "I see your notion of cleanliness still leaves something to be desired."

It was said with a glimmer of an almost-smirk, most definitely an attempt to lighten the mood (for how much could have changed in three weeks?) and Jim found himself grinning. "Yeah, well," he said as Spock moved to sit, "some things don't change."

He expectantly lifted his face when Spock came near without thinking, pure muscle memory. Almost as soon as he had, he recognized his error, but it was not until Spock started to bend his own head that the Vulcan froze with realization, himself. They stared at each other for a moment before Spock quickly lowered himself into his chair, eyes now fixed to the board. Jim went to his own seat on the other side, grip on the table tight.

"... Some things do," he said, ironically.

"Captain," Spock addressed the table, "I had - _have_ concerns that our being alone is not yet quite appropriate."

Jim snorted, mirthlessly. "I have concerns it never will be." He dropped his head over onto his hand and nodded at the board. "Your move."

Spock hesitated, and Jim recognized it immediately. Allow Jim to lead him astray, or approach the situation logically? But any such wondering always meant Jim had already won the battle. Sure enough, with a resigned look, Spock reached forward and relocated a cautious pawn to the second level. Jim watched his long fingers more carefully than the placement of the piece.

Appropriate topics, he thought, as he made his own move. He should have made that list. Asking anything about Spock himself was off the menu; Jim knew almost everything and what he did not know, he did not yet want to know. Similarly, inviting Spock to discuss what he had missed in his absence, even ship's business, was a tricky subject. They were reduced to the more abstract, then.

"So, I heard there's this guy, somewhere," Jim blurted, and Spock's eyes flicked to him before moving back to the board, a signal that Jim had his attention, "that they did experiments on. Who has no testosterone."

Spock's left eyebrow raised. "Indeed?"

"Yeah. I dunno if they took it out or if he was born without it... well, I guess he couldn't have been born without it; maybe he's losing it over time, some disease or something, I don't know. Anyway," Jim adjusted himself higher in his seat, watching the board for Spock's most logical option, "they say he just... sits there. Just staring at the wall. All day."

Eyes on the board as well, Spock hummed his consideration. "The Human testosterone hormone is one which enhances many things, desire, in all forms, obviously among them."

"Yeah, that's what the scientists working with him were saying," Jim agreed. "That he just... _wants_ nothing else."

Spock's eyes moved to Jim again, gaze darkly curious. "You find this disconcerting," he said as he made another move. It was not a question, exactly. He sat back.

As in many things they had discussed over the years, Jim found himself surprised at Spock's surprise. So much which Jim had always thought the point of view of the majority had turned out not to be the case with Spock; he had always liked that. "You don't?" It took him a moment to remember it was his move.

"I confess, I find it somewhat comforting."

Jim glanced up long enough to smile and _tsk_ softly at him. "Finding comfort implies existing _dis_ comfort," he said. "I believe that's an emotion, Mister Spock."

When Spock's face showed only continuing signs of thoughtfulness, Jim averted his eyes back to his task, both to let him think, and to avoid watching him do so.

"You in no way find the notion appealing?" Spock eventually asked. "To want for nothing?"

Jim snorted a laugh as he moved a bishop. "Spock," he said. "Think about how bored I get between exciting missions. And then think about how much _more_ bored I'd get if I had none to look forward to."

"Indeed," Spock conceded. "Though, a fallacy exists in your argument."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" This earned him a flicker of a smile.

"Should you truly want for nothing," Spock went on, "neither would you want for wanting."

Jim stared at him. Spock had yet, as far as he could tell, to refocus on the game, even though it was his turn now. "Huh," he said. He shrugged. "... Still not sure that's a good thing."

"On the contrary, I believe it closely resembles Terran notions of Paradise. And some Vulcan."

Jim felt a funny little grin coming on. "So you think that guy," he said, "wherever he is, sitting on his ass, doing nothing - you think he's in Heaven?"

"I acknowledge he is content."

"Yeah, but..." Jim scoffed to himself, never as sure of his words as Spock. It often made him feel like his point was less valid than the Vulcan's. He loved a challenge. "If he never desires anything, he never gets to experience a desire fulfilled."

Which he thought was an excellent point, now he had managed to articulate it, but Spock's attention merely returned wistfully to the game, some of his earlier mask sliding into place. "There are worse things," was all he said to that. And Jim understood far better, as he often did at the conclusion of their debates, Spock's side of things.

He swallowed. "Yeah," he said, watching Spock not look at him.

They played the rest of the game in silence.

 

* * *

 

 _It was interesting; Jim had always hated being held as a child. He had been too busy for his mother's somewhat needy arms when he was very small, content to explore the wilds of the house, from Under The Bed to That Stuff Beneath The Sink, and eventually, she had given up. Exploring still intrigued him, but he did not think he was looking for anything in particular anymore. Perhaps he had found whatever he had been._

 _Spock's thumb brushed rhythmically over his ear and Jim softly smiled into the palm cupping his face, settling back more comfortably against Spock's warm chest. Occasionally, especially as Spock got sleepier, Jim could still pick up a stray thought through the touch, as though the floodgates of the meld had been closed, but trickles still seeped through the cracks. A nose absently nuzzled the back of his neck and he felt Spock's eyes close by the whisper of his eyelashes._

 _"What's_ t'hy'la _mean?" he whispered, because it felt like the kind of thing you whispered about, and the thumb migrated almost reverently over his lips. He would have assumed any other bedmate was telling him to shut up and go to sleep, but Spock's mood was still perceivable._

 _"Why?" Spock sounded and felt a touch amused. He just loved knowing things Jim did not, Jim was certain sometimes._

 _"You, like... thought it_ at _me," Jim dutifully explained. Most of the time, reading Spock's thoughts was just that: reading. He would watch them go by like the view out a transport window. Sometimes, Spock would stop and gently guide him to something, or vice-versa. And occasionally, something would come across as though Spock were shouting it at him,_ hey, over here! _, sometimes whether he meant to or not._

 _"Did I?"_

 _Jim gently jabbed an elbow into his ribs and Spock squeezed the fingers of the same hand, near painfully, in retaliation. "I liked the way it felt," Jim admitted, using his free hand, as Spock had none, to tug the blankets over their shoulders. He sensed Spock's mirth at the way he had to maneuver his trapped arm to achieve it. "What's it mean?"_

 _"I should think you would understand by now that how a thing feels in the meld_ is _its meaning."_

 _"It's what it means to_ you _," Jim said._

 _A burst of humorous pleasure from Spock, that aloud would have translated as a laugh; satisfaction that Jim was cunning enough for this game. "I could explain no more than what it means to me."_

 _Jim turned within the circle of Spock's hold to face him, tugging their entwined fingers loose to snake his arms around Spock's waist and lie flush against him. Spock shuddered and it took Jim a moment to recognize it as vestigial arousal, rather than the cold. "To you," Jim said, "it's me."_

 _Spock's eyes, brightly dark in the warped starlight from the window, flicked to Jim's lips and then back to his own. "It is," he agreed._

 _"Yeah, see, that doesn't help me." Jim grinned, hands moving up over Spock's shoulder blades and then back down again. "Is it like an endearment?" he asked. "Are you calling me some cute, cuddly little Vulcan creature or something? 'Cause not to rain on your parade, but I'm not so sure I'm comfortable with that. I'm very rugged and manly, you know."_

 _"I fail to see-"_

 _"Yeah, yeah, sure you do." Jim nipped at his chin. "What is it?"_

 _Spock tipped his head for him when Jim's lips moved down his neck. "There is no Standard equivalent."_

 _Jim snorted against his skin. "I bet there isn't," he said, and he reached around the arm Spock had draped over his and drew the hand up from his own waist to his face. "Show me."_

 _Spock's mind slipped easily into his, more easily than normal after the previous meld, thumb skirting fondly over Jim's eyebrow before sliding to the proper meld point._ Home _, Jim always thought, and knew it pleased Spock that he did._

 __T'hy'la _, Spock showed him again, guiding him this time, though at first, it was still just Jim; Spock's warm perception of him, but still himself, the impression of looking at his reflection in a mirror. Spock could not separate the word from him, Jim now understood, which made explaining in this way more difficult, even if it lacked the language barrier._ Nom-tor du panu. __

 _That had ghosted over Jim's mind in the last meld as well, and the same feelings accompanied it, fierce, affectionate possessiveness._

 __Is that it? _Jim wondered, and it must have come across as a tickle of curiosity and bemusement to Spock._

 __Mine _, was the first thing to come across._ World. All. Everything. __

 _Jim attempted to withdraw without even realizing he had until Spock stopped him, like a gentle hand on his shoulder, in order to separate them correctly. Jim opened his eyes, shaky in Spock's grip, and Spock's fingers carded back through his hair like he was calming a frightened animal. Jim felt almost feverish, though perhaps that was merely the heat of Spock._

 _Jim swallowed. "Soulmate," he suggested, weakly._

 _Spock's fingers stilled briefly before continuing their ministrations. "That would... suffice," he allowed, though Jim understood that was all it would do, which meant it would not, really._

 _He scooted impossibly closer and lifted his head a tad to catch Spock's lips, barely, almost a request for permission. Spock made a soft noise and the hand in his hair moved to guide his head, opening his mouth and twining their tongues in Jim's. He flattened a hand against the small of Jim's back and guided him onto it before settling between his legs._

 _"Jim," he whispered against his lips, hands sliding beneath him to cup his buttocks, pulling him upward. A finger edged along the crease._

 _Jim made an unintelligible sound, needful - why was he so desperate tonight? - and Spock dipped his hips down, lifting one hand back to his cheek._

 _"Jim," he said again._

 _"Mmm."_

"Jim."

"Mmm?"

"Hey."

He felt a less than tender shake to his shoulder and he rose with a jerk, sitting up and blinking against florescent light. When he felt he had his bearings, he reached up and curiously peeled away the paper stuck to his forehead to squint at it. McCoy snatched it from him, looking frustrated to mask what Jim was sure was amusement, and replaced it on his desk.

"Chapel let you in?" he demanded as though it mattered to him, and Jim blinked some more.

"Uh..." He shifted in the doctor's chair and winced at the brush of his pants against the erection he had woken with.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Wake up, Jim," he said, and then he observed him appraisingly. "You're not supposed to be on duty, are you?"

Jim shook his head. "Relax, Bones, I would come to you if I were falling asleep on duty, no. Beta shift is weekends for me. And you know that."

"Just doin' my job."

"Yeah, yeah." Jim stretched, attempting to pop his back. "Was just waiting for you to get off; thought I'd do poker night, tonight."

"Maybe you should go to bed early, instead," his friend suggested, still watching him. "Have you been sleeping?"

Jim wanted to stand to back away from him and more easily dismiss the subject, but the last thing he needed was McCoy noticing his aroused state. " _Yes_ , Bones," he insisted. "Mostly, anyway. Just a little trouble lately. Nothing medical."

McCoy looked unconvinced. "You need me to prescribe something?" he asked. "Mild sedative?"

"I'm _fine_. I just proved I _can_ fall asleep, right?"

"Fine, fine. S'cuse me for trying to help." McCoy straightened from his position, leaning over the desk. "You ready to go then?"

Jim had calmed to perhaps half-mast now, thank God, and he nodded, even if the ache in the pit of his stomach was going to be rather more difficult to banish. "Yeah," he said, standing and rubbing at his eyes a bit.

"Sulu will be happy to see you," McCoy told him as they moved out of the office and into the outer Sickbay. He nodded acknowledgment at M'Benga, just arriving for gamma shift. "Chekov will be happy to see you, but not your game."

Jim snorted. "Kid has no poker face." When they had reached the hallway, Jim gestured for McCoy to go ahead of himself into the jeffries tube, which he thought was quite the offer, considering. If someone was going to have to stare at someone else's ass, well, Jim had the nicer one, if he did say so himself. But it was only a one deck climb. The doctor slipped in ahead of him and started up the ladder, glancing briefly down to make sure he was being followed.

"So what's with the sudden surge or socialness?" he called.

" _Sudden surge of socialness_ ," Jim echoed. "That's hard to say. Hey, Bones," He looked up at the doctor's feet, "say that three times, fast."

"Damn it, Jim, I'm serious."

"So'm I," Jim said. "It's hard to say."

McCoy stepped out of the tube at the next opening and waited for Jim to emerge, expression stern.

Jim shrugged at him as he did. "Bones, you're unhappy when I hole up in my quarters, you're unhappy when I come out of them - what is it you want me to do?"

McCoy regarded him, his look resigned, which could have meant he thought Jim was right or that Jim would not be convinced he was not. "I don't know," he said. "You know, aside from being your best friend, I am technically your psychiatrist."

Jim set off down the hall toward the rec room, but he knew better than to think McCoy would drop this.

"I know you, Jim," he said, jogging a few steps to catch up with him. "You're not clinically depressed. This is a situational problem, which means it can be worked through. Believe me," He pulled Jim to a stop before he could enter the crowded room they had reached, "I would love to just be able to medicate you and have done with it."

"Not your responsibility."

"It is. Actually." He shrugged. "In more ways than one."

"Nice of you," Jim said, only half-bitter. "But easier said than done as long he's still here, right?" He shook his head. "And I want him here."

McCoy hesitated, face strange, and Jim was suddenly even more uneasy. "Don't... make that the case, Jim," he said. "Please, don't put me in that position, okay?"

Jim had considered Spock growing too uncomfortable with the situation and requesting a transfer. Oddly enough, this had not occurred to him. "This is my social life, Bones, not my work," he said lowly. "Which is not your business."

McCoy knew better than to be offended, even though Jim had sort of meant for him to be. It never was simple, forcing his friend to realize that he had crossed a line. Ever since he had taken Jim under his wing years ago, he had assumed exclusive rights to all aspects of him, as if he were his child.

"If the personal becomes the professional," he said, and Jim could sense the irony, how that phrase had turned on him.

"It won't. And you know," Jim glanced down the hall, toward the lift, and took a step in that direction, "I think going to bed early is sounding good, now."

"Oh, come on, Jim, don't ruin the evening. You don't have to leave mad."

"I'm not mad," Jim insisted with faux nonchalance. He lifted his hands in a casual mimic of defensiveness. "I'm just leaving." He stopped moving, so his friend might believe him. He nodded toward the rec room entrance. He could hear Uhura humming. "They'll be waiting to start; you go ahead."

McCoy looked reluctant. "You'll really sleep?"

"I'll really try," Jim said, and that would have to be enough.

McCoy sighed, eyes scanning Jim up and down, quickly. "... All right," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Jim nodded and waited for the doctor to leave the hall before continuing his trip to the lift. He felt sick and he wanted Spock where he could see him. Who even knew where he was right now, or what good it would do Jim to see him when he could do nothing to comfort him, but he felt the irrational urge to demand his location from the computer. He passed the lift in order to round the corner to the deck's mainframe and do just that.

"Computer," he addressed it. "Locate Commander Spock."

Botany labs, it informed him. Deck three.

Jim stood there a moment, breathing and staring at the name. Then he returned to the lift and stepped inside this time.

He sighed, reaching for the rail. "... Deck five," he told it, obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the reviews, guys. :) (A few of mine have seemed to disappear today, is somethin' going on with AO3? They were there yesterday. O.o )


	7. Part VII

Jim had no idea if the malfunctioning turbines had been repaired yet. Given the length of time since the last complaint, he assumed so, but his own deck had luckily never been affected. Either way, he was very grateful for the real water shower right now.

It had been six days since McCoy had asked him if he was getting enough sleep, and five of those nights, Jim had dreamed of Spock. The fourth night, he had kept himself awake just so he wouldn't. The dreams were nice, pleasant, ranging from deeply arousing to merely comforting. It was not the dreams that were the problem; it was the waking. They made the urge to touch Spock greater, to look at him, even just talk with him. He had told himself the last three nights that he would banish them from his thoughts, that he would purposely focus on other things as he was drifting off. When work had not accomplished the task, he had attempted other fantasies, Uhura working her shift naked, threesomes with Orion girls - none of it helped. They felt like they were not even of his own mind; pulling out of them was like trying to come down from the highest drug. They gripped him and would not let him return to himself. Even the alpha shift alarm was having difficulty waking him this week.

And then there was the not-small issue of the ones that were sexual. Jim had woken to sheets sticky with more than just sweat the first night, and the erection he was currently sporting, returning at just the memory of the dream, was proving more annoying than the stray concern of what they were going to start thinking of him down in Laundry. Shocking though it was, he twisted the knob toward cold and squashed the instinct to avoid the frigid spray.

He needed to get laid. That was surely the problem. It had been nearly two months since the last time he could remember having sex with Spock. But here, on the ship, when Spock was taken out of the equation, sex was not so easy to come by.

And even if it were, the idea felt strange and foreign now.

Jim knew how to emotionally detach when it came to sleeping with someone; he used to do it all the time. But now, the idea of going back to it inspired the same roiling in Jim's stomach that the veggie burgers McCoy pushed on him did. It wasn't the real thing.

Jim, half falling back asleep on his feet, jumped at a sound far too obnoxious for the late hour. He slipped a little on the tile, the hand pressed to the wall not nearly enough to support him, and looked around, more frantic than he would have been when fully awake.

It took hearing the sound a second time to even discover what it was - the buzzer from Spock's quarters. Jim did not believe he had ever heard it in the entirety of their tenure on the _Enterprise_. In the early days, Spock had made sure to organize his bathroom time around Jim's, so as to avoid having to speak with him more than was necessary, Jim had suspected at the time. Then, in recent months of course, walking in on each other had hardly been enough of an issue to even merit locking the door. In fact, at times, it had been a goal.

That was clearly not the case in this instance.

The buzzer sounded again.

Jim sighed and swiped a palm down his face, scattering water droplets. Then he shut the shower off and snatched a towel from the shelf with a grimace. Wrapping it around his waist, he trudged for Spock's door and reset the door lock. It slid open and Spock blinked in the sudden light from the bathroom. The dark quarters behind him and his attire suggested he had been sleeping.

"It is oh three fifteen," he said. His dark eyes skimmed down Jim's form, quickly returning to his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Jim reached back for another towel and began dabbing at his head.

"You did not. You perplexed me," Spock corrected him, voice a little muffled by the cotton. "The shower has been operating for one hour."

Jim peeked out. "What, no decimals?"

To Jim's trained eye, Spock had appeared duly sleepy at first, but here he straightened. "One hour, precisely."

Jim stared at him. Something told him Spock had been awake the full hour. Had he been waiting for a suitable amount of time to pass before voicing his concern? He did look a little rigid. And it was rather strange to be taking an hour-long shower at three in the morning.

Jim cleared his throat. "I'm all right," he assured him. "Just... the shower felt nice, once I got in."

Spock's eyebrow crept up. "An illogical waste of water," he noted, idly, and Jim did not argue. "And the hour?"

Spock was being too nosy, and Jim ought to point it out, but it was habit for both of them to consider the other their business. He shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep." He blinked. "If I didn't wake you, what're you doing up?" He glanced pointedly back into Spock's cabin, avoiding the sleep pants the Vulcan was wearing.

"Inquiring after the state of your mental health," Spock quipped, and yeah, it was too late to argue with a Vulcan.

Jim scrunched his facial muscles and shook his head, wiping the towel over it again. "Okay, okay," was all he bothered to say. When his eyes reemerged, he noticed Spock's had lowered once more to his state of undress. He waited. "Spock," he said, after a moment, and the fact that he had to say it at all was quite telling.

Spock looked away from Jim entirely. "I apologize," he said to the damp floor. "It is... difficult. She... T'Pid is just beginning to sleep now as well, and when she is dormant in my mind..."

Jim had not allowed himself to think much of her. He had never met her, and for now, he liked it that way; it made it easier to pretend that she was some figment of his imagination, likely to disappear one day. It made it easier to forget that she was now closer to Spock than he was. Apparently, when she was sleeping, it was easier for Spock to forget too.

"What's it like?" he found himself asking.

Spock looked a bit surprised by the question. "I cannot say," he said. "I am half-Human, and then... I imagine for most it would be... comforting. It is not without comfort for me, but it is predominantly intrusive." Spock then looked like he was considering something oddly interesting. "Her thoughts are more ordered than mine or yours. She does not dream. I suspect if she did, she might be more present, at this time."

Jim's eyes lowered to the floor as well. "Does she know?" he asked. He looked up. "About me?"

"The nature of the bond dictates that she knows everything." Spock looked somewhat guiltily away. "I fear that all you placed in my confidence is in hers now, as well. "

"So, like... she could listen to this, now?"

"Negative," Spock said. "Even were she conscious, the distance provides a muffling effect. It transmits emotions - mood, danger. Were it ever as all-encompassing as a meld, it would be most impractical. Transmitting thoughts requires physical contact or true effort."

So, I could kiss you, right now, and she wouldn't know, Jim thought.

"I find myself wondering, at times, how it would..." But Spock didn't finish.

Jim did not need him to. He wondered all the time himself what it would be like between them, and he had never even experienced it. "Yeah," he said softly. He stood straighter and took a step back. "I think the late hour makes us a bit too truthful, Mister Spock," he said, purposely light, half an attempt to create an opening to leave.

"Indeed."

Jim shook his head, but did not go. "I don't want this to, like..." he said. "We can't keep defining us by what we're not. Or it's gonna turn in to all we are." He swallowed. "I like to remember why I love you, not just that I do."

"... I cannot fault your logic, even should I find it difficult to implement." Spock said nothing more, but his expression, still fixed off somewhere, was intent, nearly troubled.

"What?" Jim prompted, certain there was something to prompt.

"I feel anger," Spock said, and when he met Jim's eyes, yes, Jim realized he did. "Your instinct to blame. However illogical, there exists some part of me that feels entitled to you, after..."

Spock had clearly stopped himself. That was apparently too much to speak of, even to Jim. Jim wanted to agree with him. They were good people, and that was in spite of all the shit life had thrown at both of them, especially Spock. Didn't they deserve at least this?

Jim stepped forward before he could think not to, palms moving to Spock's bare chest almost of their own volition. His mouth was open, prepared to say... what? _You can still have me_? Jim would let him, yes, but would Spock be the same person he loved if he let himself?

No. That was defining them by their lack again, not their substance.

Jim looked up into Spock's face. The Vulcan's eyes were hooded, his lips parted, waiting for something, standing on the edge of some cliff over which he would lose himself, and no, Jim would not be the one to push him.

He stepped back, breathing ragged, and Spock's eyes shut in what may have been relief.

"I think it's time for bed," Jim said, and then started. "I mean, not-" He groaned and rubbed his fingetips into his eyes. "I'm going to go in there." He gestured back toward his door. "And you're going to go in there." Back into Spock's cabin. "And I will see you in the morning."

Jim watched Spock stand there a moment before the other's choice to agree became apparent in his stance. "Yes."

Jim nodded. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Captain," Spock said before moving into his dark quarters, and for once, Jim did not protest the title.

 

* * *

 

It was illogical to feel guilt, Jim thought.

He was an adult. He was unattached. He was off-duty. He was perfectly within his rights.

For now, her kisses burned like the rest of the shots he had downed that evening, and he couldn't bring himself to care that she would surely leave just as bad an aftertaste. It was easier than he had thought it would be, much easier. He had been so sure he had lost it, this, but really, when it came down to it, no, it was like picking a lock or hacking a computer; the skills of a misspent youth still served him well when they became necessary.

And this was necessary. He needed to snap himself out of this, and he was unsure if this girl - this clingy, too-sweet smelling girl - was truly a step in the right direction, but then, this was all he knew to do.

"Mmm," she mumbled, her small hands tightening on his shoulders, and she pulled back, lipstick now rubbed clean, "I don't... usually do this."

"Yeah, me neither," Jim snorted, before moving in to kiss her again.

"I just..." she said, as he moved down her neck, "I don't want you thinking I'm one of _those_ girls."

Jim did not respond to that. It would probably kill the mood to inform her that it didn't really matter to him what he thought of her, and that it probably wouldn't matter to her either, after tonight. This was Earth, he was famous here. He knew why she was here, even if she didn't. And he knew why he was here.

He should have been back home in Riverside, not squatting in San Francisco; visiting his mother this leave, like a good son. But he vividly recalled, several months back, via subspace transmission, informing her (rather delightedly, he remembered with no small amount of embarrassment) that he had found "the one," and that no, goddammit, he wasn't fucking with her. Explaining to her what had happened to that would involve explaining that "the one" had been (was?) a Vulcan and a male and Spock, you remember Spock?, and there was no way he was going through that for nothing now.

No doubt she had been waiting to hear that he had somehow fucked it up, anyway.

It didn't matter if it had not been his fault. He had still lost it. If he couldn't keep the one thing that he had even been _told_ was going to be the one constant in his life, then yes, Jim could believe the universe did not wish him to keep anything.

So, promiscuous sex. It was looking better and better; some median between alone and not, that was at least better than the former.

For tonight, at least, this girl wanted him.

Her soft moans brought him back to the present, and damn, had he really not touched a woman in over a year? That just seemed wasteful, Jim thought with a little smirk against her bare breast.

He had expected to think of Spock the whole time. He had not intended to, he had simply believed there would be no avoiding it. He thought surely as he thrust into her, he would see the Vulcan's face, miss the strength beneath the grip when she clung to him, feel _empty_ now and out of sync, with sex that was purely physical.

But it was actually quite simple to stay in the moment. Jim suspected the slight buzz of alcohol was helping with that, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was so different, and he had been so sure that that would make him miss Spock more. Instead, it helped him distinguish between the two. This had nothing to do with Spock. This was Jim's life before Spock.

And now, it would be his life after him.

 

* * *

 

He felt better in some ways and worse in others. Mostly, he felt worse that he _did_ feel better. Apparently, sex had indeed been part of the problem. It would do, anyway, like coffee in place of sleep; better than nothing.

"What's the matter with you?" McCoy demanded, as soon as he set eyes on Jim, approaching him in the cafeteria. Jim paused just as he was about to sit.

"Nice to see you, too, Bones," he said, setting his own tray down. "Nice, isn't it?" He glanced over their surroundings. "Like being a student again." He wrinkled his nose at the doctor's food selection. "What the hell is that?"

"What the hell is _that_?" McCoy returned. He reached forward and grasped the cheeseburger, lifting it up and brandishing it just shy of Jim's face. "Do you know what's in this?"

"Synthetic goodness." Jim stole it back from him and made a show of brushing off the bun. "Look at you, puttin' your filthy paws all over it. I don't know where your hands have been."

"Rectal exams this morning," his friend said, without missing a beat. He glared at Jim another moment before sighing and shaking his head. "You eat that now, but when we get back on the ship, it's lettuce and egg whites."

"It just kills you, doesn't it?" Jim took a too-large bite on purpose.

"Uh, no. It kills _you_." McCoy sat forward. "Now, I repeat. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Jim chewed slowly, wary of swallowing. "Wha myoo min?"

"You're almost... chipper," McCoy said, like the word disgusted him, and hell, it probably did. "I haven't seen you chipper in months."

Jim shrugged. "Can't a guy enjoy his leave?" He took another bite.

"You hate leave." McCoy stared at him intently, not eating, and Jim didn't protest. "Did you...?"

Jim kept chewing.

"You did, didn't you?" McCoy sat back and picked up his fork again, shaking his head at his plate. "I swear, Jim, I don't know whether to be disappointed or proud."

Jim was both, himself. Proud he was moving on. Disappointed he was doing it in this way. But he knew no other way to go about it. He swallowed and didn't take another bite.

"He's gonna know, you know," McCoy pointed out, looking up again to level Jim with something just shy of a glare. "I think the bastard may actually know you better than I do."

Jim had not had time to consider that. He shrugged a shoulder, too casually. "Yeah, well," he said, "had to happen sometime, right?"

"Don't be an ass about it, Jim. Much as I hate to admit it, Spock doesn't deserve that."

"I'm not even gonna mention it."

McCoy snorted and reached for his juice. "Sometimes that can be being an ass about it."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Jim demanded. "Sit him down, have a nice long discussion about it?" Jim shook his head. "I don't think so, sorry. From now on, the only thing I need his go-ahead for is ship's business."

"Oh, that's real nice."

"It's the way it is. I didn't ask for it. Excuse me for dealing with it. Do I come to _you_ for permission to get laid?"

"You're not in love with me."

Jim went to snap back on reflex, but then, what was there to say to that? Even if it was irrelevant now, it didn't make McCoy any less right. Jim could not deny that. He was in love with Spock. What had happened had not changed that, not yet. And Spock was in love with him.

And this would hurt Spock.

"... How was it?"

The question startled Jim and he looked up from his forlorn-looking burger. He shrugged. "Good," he said wistfully. "It was really nice not to have to think for an hour."

Jim watched the outline of McCoy's tongue, skirting over his top teeth beneath his lip. "Well," he said. "I hope it was worth the extra thinking you're gonna have to do now."

His friend went back to his food, but Jim didn't. He imagined it wouldn't be.

 

* * *

 

Spock knew the moment he saw him.

Jim's semi-good mood had long since faded, and he had made no move to tell him, but Spock knew. It was obvious. He had been approaching Jim normally, hands behind his back, but then as he drew closer, he faltered for a step, hesitating, shoulders stiffening beneath the black command uniform. For a moment, he looked as he had when Jim had seen him for the first time, all business, stern.

 _You're only a year older than me,_ Jim inanely wanted to remind him, as if this were a game between children.

Spock halted before him. The announcements being called over the hanger bay's intercom seemed louder, suddenly.

"Captain," he said after a moment, and it was always how Spock would have greeted him in public, but it somehow felt very purposeful. Perhaps Jim was simply being paranoid.

But then, he had thought that about the _pon farr_ too.

"Mister Spock," he replied, and yeah, any trace of chipperness or even relief was now long gone. He should have known it would be.

Spock averted his eyes and produced a data PADD from behind his back, offering it to Jim. Jim stared at it a moment before taking it.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The necessary forms regarding the few repairs made to the ship while in Spacedock," Spock explained. "Mister Scott has already perused them."

"And complained, I'm sure."

"Indeed."

Jim glanced over the forms, feeling Spock's eyes on him. It was very disconcerting. After a few moments of it, he sighed and looked up, tucking the PADD beneath an arm. "Do we need to talk about this?" he asked.

"The documents have already met with my approval."

"That's not what I meant, Spock."

"I know nothing else worth mentioning." Spock returned his hands to the small of his back. "Sir."

Jim stared at him, and Spock held his gaze evenly, with no sign of discomfort or discontent. Jim's nostrils flared and he licked his lips. "So, that's a 'no', then."

Spock politely inclined his head toward him. "I will see you on board the shuttle, Captain."

He turned to go without waiting for Jim to return the sentiment. Jim watched his retreating back for a bit before realizing that Spock had also left without waiting to be dismissed.

"Great," he mumbled to the high ceilings before moving off himself.

 

* * *

 

Jim sat beside Spock on the shuttle, mostly because any of the crew would expect it, but also as a silent olive branch. He was unsure if it worked; he would have guessed not. McCoy was surely the only other on board who could tell the difference between the detachment Spock presented and his usual behavior, but Jim was certain Spock was wishing he had chosen another seat, and truthfully, perhaps a different shuttle. He responded only to direct questions - of which Jim could only think of so many before boarding the ship could offer more - sitting in polite silence and gazing out at the atmosphere rushing past.

Jim gave up after attempt two, sooner than he normally would have, but then, he was not trying to discern what was troubling Spock; he knew already. There was no reason to press, beyond Jim's own discomfort. Spock was remaining professional, and they had other business to attend to before anything could be dealt with anyway.

So Jim withstood the silent shuttle ride. He took the requisite reorientation tour of the ship, watching Spock speak more to the engineers than to him, a constant but stoic presence at his side. He sat in his chair and oversaw the departure from Spacedock. He welcomed the Bridge crew back with a smile, as he had every other crewmember he had encountered during the tour, and informed them of their present mission, though surely they had already been briefed. He sat there the remainder of alpha shift with Uhura's curious eyes on both his chair and the science station. And finally, half an hour before beta shift, earlier than he should be heading for dinner, he stood.

“Mister Sulu, you have the conn,” he said, making for the turbolift. “Mister Spock, with me, please.”

It was not the most professional thing he had ever done, Jim would admit, and surely Spock would comment on this. He had not intended to even broach the subject. But he had rarely seen Spock truly angry with him since he hadn't liked him well enough to care. Not in agreement with him, worried enough to seem livid, stubborn, yes, but not angry.

It remained an extremely unsettling experience. And they were still a team in at least one regard, Jim thought, which meant it had to be seen to as any work problem would.

Spock stepped into the lift after him and said nothing, even once the doors had shut, facing them like he was waiting for them to open again. Jim, leaning on the right side, allowed that for a moment, giving the command for deck five. Then he sighed and reached forward to press the emergency stop.

He returned to his position, arms spread along the rail and gazing at his feet like they had somehow wronged him. He waited, letting the silence press in, unbearably; or unbearably for a Human. Spock still said nothing, which was beyond frustrating, but then at least he was not yet pretending Jim had called him away for business of some sort.

“Clearly,” Jim finally said, “we _do_ need to talk about this.”

“Captain,” Spock said, and the sound of his voice startled Jim a little, “there is nothing to speak of."

"You know there is."

Spock hesitated. "... You were within your rights.”

With a woman, or even with just a Human, Jim knew that would be a passive-aggressive statement, intended to mean the exact opposite. “I know that,” Jim said. “That's not the point. You're mad.”

“I am not.”

“You seem mad.”

“... Any anger I experience is as irrational and misplaced as the sort I have already spoken of.” Jim saw him swallow, still staring at the lift doors. “And my reaction is of no consequence, in any event.”

“Spock, you-” Jim squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with one hand, “that you don't have the right to be mad about it doesn't mean that it's not understandable that you are. It might help to talk about it.”

“I see no pragmatic benefit in any such discussion, nor do I believe this the proper place for it.”

Jim grit his teeth. “Okay, fine,” he said, and he pushed the button again. The lift restarted, zooming downward. “Your quarters or mine?”

“Captain-”

“ _Your quarters_ ,” Jim stared him down, “or mine?”

Spock's jaw twitched. “Yours will suffice.”

The lift halted again and the doors opened this time, two ensigns stepping on after they had stepped off. Jim moved toward his cabin and Spock dutifully followed, a step behind him, where interaction was less expected.

When they arrived, Jim keyed his code in. “After you,” he said, half sure Spock would bolt if he were to enter first himself. Spock briefly met his eyes, and then obeyed.

Once the door had closed again, Jim had no idea what to do with himself. It was evident that Spock wasn't exactly keen to get the conversation going. He approached the viewport and watched the stars - anything to look at other than Jim.

"I don't know what to do with this," Jim eventually admitted with a shrug, because the truth had always worked with Spock. "I'm not going to apologize. Not for what happened-what I did, but... I am sorry if it's hurting you." No. No, they were beyond tip-toeing around Spock's emotions, even still. Jim swallowed. " _That_ it's hurting you," he amended.

Spock was silent.

" _Say_ something."

After a moment, he heard, "Is this how you felt?"

It was not the route Jim had expected. "Yeah," he said. He did not see the need to inform Spock that it had actually probably been worse for him. "How did you think I felt?" He was honestly curious.

"The gap between the theoretical and the literal, it seems, is wider than I had thought."

Jim snorted. "Kinda sucks, doesn't it?"

He still couldn't see Spock's face, but he knew his eyebrow was twitching upward. "A gross understatement," he said, not even bothering to pretend to misinterpret the slang. "I feel as though several internal organs have been removed."

Jim couldn't help a bitter laugh at that, but then Spock understood his common need for levity and misplaced humor. He lowered himself with a huff into his desk chair, elbows balanced on his knees. "You know I didn't do it to get back at you or something, right?"

"I would hardly expect that of you," Spock said. "And you have apologized for any negative emotions your actions may have caused. You do not lie."

"Heh. Usually, anyway."

"Bluffing, Jim." And Spock looked at him for the first time, seeming not entirely forlorn. "It has been stressed to me in the past that there is a difference, if I recall."

Jim smiled, mirthlessly, eyes darting down, then back to Spock's. "I really miss you," he said, because he felt it, particularly in that moment. He had not intended more awkwardness or discomfort; he meant it in all ways.

Spock turned back to the viewport.

"... Sorry," Jim said. "Too mushy."

"No," was all Spock said.

"Still mad?" Jim ventured.

"Yes," Spock said, with no trace of denial or even much pause.

"Tell me why."

Spock looked uncomfortable with this request, or perhaps he was just considering his answer very carefully, ever the diplomat. "It was... quite abrupt."

Jim sat back. McCoy had seemed like that had been part of his issue with the whole ordeal as well. "Too soon," he clarified, though it was hardly necessary.

Spock did not confirm it.

"Did you want me to talk to you about it first?" Jim asked. "I thought maybe that would actually make it worse."

"I do not know what I expected."

Jim nodded. "Look, Spock," he said. "You know me, so I think you'll believe me when I say... sex is... different for me than it is for you. Not to, like, _demean_ it, or whatever, because I think you know I can take it pretty seriously too, but... I think you think the intimacy is just inherent in the act, and I even get why, but I don't. It's just how I cope." He shrugged. "Upkeep. Like showering; I just feel better after."

"I am unsure if the lack of meaning is a comfort."

Jim thought about that. "Unsure or sure it's not?"

No answer again.

"Fair enough, I guess," Jim said. "I'm just saying, for what it's worth... yeah, I kind of... sleep around. Indiscriminately. But I still choose who I'm intimate with." He shifted in his chair. "So to borrow from a friend: she wasn't you... or maybe more importantly here: you weren't her."

Not meaningless. Never meaningless.

"Okay?" he prompted after too many seconds of no reply.

"I am... satisfied."

"Great," Jim said and rose with what he hoped looked like gusto. He rounded his desk to invade Spock's space. "Then come on. We're going to get dinner."

Spock arched an eyebrow that he could see this time.

"This is day one of Jim Pretends To Be Fine, and I'm including you in that," he explained. He dared to slip an arm around the Vulcan's shoulders and immediately wished he had not after, but by then, he could not remove it. "We're gonna fake it 'til we make it."

"Until we make what, Captain?"

Jim grinned and patted his back, beginning to drag him toward the door. "That's the spirit."


	8. Part VIII

"I don't understand."

The woman came to a stop along the long corridor. Or at least Jim assumed she was a woman; her voice would indicate so, but he could hardly tell appearance-wise, and who knew the way vocal cords worked on this planet. She turned to face their little party of three and Jim got the impression she was smiling.

"These rooms, sir," she said, and gestured toward the two doors to her left, like this was an explanation meant to satisfy his bewilderment. Jim turned and looked up at them, ornate and imposing, finding they ended at what must have been twice his own height.

"Right," he said, because he knew better than to ask the obvious: why only two? That was hardly a diplomatic question for a guest to ask, let alone guests who were actually diplomats.

"You will find two beds and lavatory facilities in each. All suited to your physiology," she said. "There is an intercom which connects to our offices, should you require anything."

"Thank you."

She bowed her head -- though again, Jim was guessing by the fact that it was located on the top of her body -- and left them, pattering tentacles squishing along the polished floor. Jim winced, both for the sound and the situation. This sort of thing had certainly happened before, but it had been a long time since he and Spock had been shy of sharing a room, or even a bed, for that matter.

He faced his two friends with raised eyebrows and a look of faux curiosity.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "If you snore, I swear to God, I'm sleeping with the hobgoblin." He moved to open the door nearest them without waiting for anyone to retort, and while Jim was busy feeling grateful and Spock surely irritated, he shoved and then cursed. "They're locked," he snapped, turning back to them and shrugging with emphatic frustration.

"I highly doubt the assistant would direct us toward locked quarters." Spock stepped up to the door himself and looked it up and down, much as Jim had a moment ago, though seemingly less impressed. A muttering McCoy reluctantly made room for him. Then Spock pressed a palm to the ancient wood, apparently deciding McCoy's method had been the correct one, and pushed.

Jim could not help a subdued chuckle when the door gave, quite effortlessly.

"Vulcanoid strength, Bones," Jim said as he moved between them both to enter. He smacked at the doctor's shoulder on his way. "Can't beat it."

When he came into their room, he found there were indeed two beds, two very large beds, with burgundy red coverlets and gleaming frames. A mirror even larger than the doors hung on the left wall, opposite them, and Jim watched himself step slowly into the room, almost hesitant at the opulence, a far cry from the sparse accommodations of the _Enterprise_. This place knew how to treat guests; at least the Humanoid ones. It was almost enough to have him wondering if he should trust them.

" _This race exceeds you in strength by a factor of two point four,_ " Jim heard Spock saying outside, while he was inspecting the room. He glanced back, briefly. " _Had you read the brief, Doctor, I am certain you would have been more prepared._ "

Jim snorted quietly.

" _I_ read _the brief,_ " McCoy snapped. " _Had I gotten into a fight with one of those octopuses, I would have remembered! Excuse me for not taking it into consideration when opening a_ door."

The utter normalcy of it was comforting.

"Gentlemen," Jim called. "I think that's enough for one night. There is a dinner to prepare for, after all."

McCoy rounded the door. "I'm going to murder your first officer one day," he said, eyes wide like he might have meant it.

"But not today." Jim smirked and nodded in his direction. "You need him to open the door."

McCoy glared at him and Spock stepped in at his back.

"Unnecessary, Captain," he said. He reached for the codec Jim now noticed was mounted on their interior wall. "I am certain there is an automatic setting."

"Precise even when your life is on the line," Jim grinned.

Spock did not glance up. "The doctor's inability to open the door suggests little threat to my person, Captain."

"Why, you-"

"Bones." McCoy obediently turned to him, exasperated, and Jim shook his head. "You know he's only doing it to get a reaction." In truth, Spock was merely being honest most of the time, but Jim did not doubt that the Vulcan derived pleasure from McCoy's ire.

"Yes, thank you, mother," McCoy said.

"You will find locks and entrance now set to voice command," Spock said, straightening. "I will retire to my own lodgings now, to prepare for this evening, if I may, Captain."

Jim nodded with a vague, dismissive gesture, still occupied with the mirror. He watched Spock leave in it, the door shutting behind him.

"Thanks for inviting me along, Jim," McCoy said, his sarcasm only amplified by the dark robe-like garment he had just extracted from the closet; their attire for the dinner, no doubt. "Gonna be a fun trip."

* * *

Jim stared at the ceiling.

For all of the doctor's complaining, it was he who was the one snoring, and loudly at that. Jim had spent a good minute glaring at the back of his friend's head, but it hadn't done much good. Annoyed though he was, it wasn't in him to go over there and roll him over. Jim couldn't sleep as it was, there was no use making that true for McCoy as well. Besides, if he were to wake him, he would notice that Jim was awake, and Jim could insist it was the noise until he was blue in the face, but McCoy had seen him lie too many times not to know it when he saw it.

He had almost reached a point where he could handle the dreams. He could pull himself out of them, they niggled less at him once he had woken. But this one... he would rather it had happened in his own bed, first of all, where he felt safe. If he was being entirely honest with himself, he would have preferred to have woken to Spock lying beside him. There was nothing new to this desire tonight, save perhaps the ferocity of it, the desperation.

McCoy gave a loud snort and when Jim glanced over at him he was rolling himself farther away. There was a moment of silence and then the rhythmic wheezing started again.

Jim sighed and turned back to the ceiling. Spock would most likely be awake. He only slept about every other night, as it was. Was tonight one of the off nights? Jim used to have the schedule down by heart, but he had lost track now it rarely affected him anymore, he realized somewhat bitterly.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jim threw the heavy blankets back and rose from the bed. He blinked, groggier than he had initially thought, and then made for the door, glancing back at his snuffling friend to make sure he would not wake.

It was only once he had reached Spock's door in the hallway that he realized he might have the small problem of lack of access. He was somehow both surprised and not when it opened to the sound of his own voice.

Emergencies, after all, he told himself. Spock was always prepared. It would surely open for the doctor as well.

The room was dark and silent when he entered, and he immediately considered backing back out as quietly as he had come. But no, it didn't matter if Spock was sleeping; Jim didn't have to wake him, he just had to see him. The room was more or less identical to his own, minus a snoring McCoy, and Jim almost considered just flopping into the spare bed.

"Jim?"

Jim jumped, even though he really should not have been shocked, especially considering Spock's hearing. His fumbling always used to wake the Vulcan up when he would rise in the middle of the night to use the head. He saw Spock sit up in the bed farthest from the door, a darker form against the gray of the room.

"Has something happened?" He heard Spock's voice, and felt instant relief at it, but he could barely see his lips moving. Spock's curtains were drawn, where his and McCoy's had not been. There was little light to be found in here.

"No," Jim said, creeping across the room so as not to trip. He felt Spock watching him do it. "Everything's fine, I just..." He stopped when he could make out Spock's face, peering at him with concern.

"You are troubled," he said, not at all questioning.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Jim said. He took another step. Now he was in here and Spock was aware of it, he felt like a five-year-old trying to crawl into his parents' bed.

"You did not."

His tone was welcoming enough that Jim felt comfortable sitting carefully at the foot of the bed, on Spock's side. It felt softer than his own, somehow. "I'm sorry," he said, almost convincing himself Spock was lying to alleviate any guilt. "I just had a nightmare."

Spock blinked in the dark. "A nightmare?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah," he said, swallowing thickly. "It was really weird. I was on the Bridge and I turned around and you weren't there." The ship had been different too, Jim remembered with a furrowed brow, darker, a different model perhaps, or even a different vessel. "I went looking for you." His mind had not known the way, but his feet had, so strange, so panicked. "And I found you, but you were older. Not other you older, but still. And you... there was glass..." Jim shook his head. "I couldn't touch you. And there were burns on your face, and Bones was there..."

"... Were our uniforms red?"

The question did not quite register at first. Jim had been gazing down at the blanket but he lifted his eyes back to Spock's face then to find his already on him, gaze intent and earnest.

Jim nodded.

Spock's throat bobbed. "The needs of the many..." he said, "outweigh..."

"... the needs of the few."

They both continued staring at one another.

"Is that why you were awake?" Jim demanded after a moment.

"Yes."

"You... wait." Jim squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked them open again. "You... I mean, you were... what happened in your dream, after you..." _Said goodbye_ , he didn't say. He had watched Spock collapse against the glass, had sat there, helpless, some part of him aware he was asleep and unable to pull himself out.

"I woke," Spock said, apparently understanding.

Jim shook his head at him. "... I didn't," he said. The words hung heavy in the air. He stood again, hands raising to lace behind his head, distracted. When his arms dropped back to his sides, he was startled to find his wrist encircled in a firm grip.

"Come here," Spock said, with a slight tug, and at first, Jim wasn't sure he had heard him properly, but his body went willingly enough, folding down to the bed again, closer to Spock this time. Spock's hand left his forearm for his face and Jim shuddered.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, barely above a whisper.

Spock blinked at him, his face close, eyes following the path of his fingers. "What feels right."

He scooted closer still, giving Jim a chance to withdraw. Jim was too stunned to. "Spock, we-"

Spock's thumb moved over his lips. "No, enough," he said. "I am..." He shook his head. "Enough. You concern yourself with my duty and my honor and her feelings, of which she purports none. My duty was first to you." Spock's forehead pressed to his. "Enough."

It was both as simple as that and yet far more complicated, and Jim knew that, knew he should be arguing it; it was so much more difficult to care when Spock was claiming not to. Spock's hand moved down his neck, petting, thumb stroking along his pulse. Jim thought perhaps he was waiting for Jim to move forward, but then he felt a kiss pressed over his left eye. Then another on his cheek. Then down his jaw. By the time Spock made it to the corner of his mouth, Jim was done with hesitancy. He turned his head into it and slanted their lips together, and once he had done that, he was gone.

For months now he had been straining not to take a step in any direction, lest the avalanche come crashing down. An inch was all that was needed to allow it.

Jim got a knee up on the bed and his hands on Spock's shoulders and pushed, eagerly laying over him, which lasted only moments before a strong arm wrapped around his waist and he was flipped onto his back. Jim did not complain. Spock had rarely been rough in the past, except perhaps the first time, ever careful, which Jim had always before assumed was merely attention to detail.

He knew different now.

They were both already shirtless, and that was really nice, Jim thought as Spock licked into his mouth, immediate bare skin, like finally having a river in sight after a long drought and someone handing you a cup. Jim couldn't keep his hands still. The taste was an immediate shock of instinctive memory he hadn't even realized he had half forgotten, and it only intensified the need to touch, to feel everything he could reach.

Spock's wandering hands had more purpose, as Spock tended to in all things. They slid down Jim's back, encouraging it to arch, and then down the back of his pants. A groan rumbled against Jim's chest when no underwear was found.

"Jim..." Spock whispered into his neck, and again after pressing more kisses there, like he wanted to remind himself who it was, or was just delighting in the fact that he could. Jim reached for him, hands settling under his ears, and drew him up, locking eyes with him.

He had intended to say something. Something meaningless, but not; assurances of his presence, Spock's name, something. But once he was holding him there, he thought perhaps he had just wanted to see Spock the way Spock wanted to say his name. Spock gazed down at him, face now bright to Jim's adjusted eyes, and perhaps he was waiting, but there was nothing particularly expectant to his expression. He bent his head eventually, and Jim let him, lifting his own to more quickly mesh their lips.

They were still separated, Jim noticed, not just by their pants, but by the blanket, covering Spock's lower half and awkwardly folded over onto Jim along with him. Jim got his fingers under it and then his legs, managing to stay attached to Spock's mouth for most of it, Spock waiting patiently when he couldn't. He kicked his pants off in the process, lost somewhere beneath the covers, and then reached for Spock's shoulders again. It was hot under here, pleasantly so for now, and Jim settled into the warm spot Spock had left, surrounded by the scent of him, as jarring to the senses as his taste.

 _Home_ , Jim thought again as Spock laid over him, and they had not even melded yet, had not melded in _months_ he realized, even before the marriage. There was not much chance of catching Spock's hand for that right now, nor much practicality, but Jim made a note to, at some point.

He reached for Spock's pants instead, eagerly easing them down his slim hips, and he wasn't sure if Spock even bothered to kick them off before settling against him; if so, he couldn't pinpoint when he had. All that mattered was that they were now bare where it mattered, touching where it mattered, Spock's erection, even hotter to the touch than his own, sliding alongside his. Jim broke their kiss to cry out and Spock dipped his head to gasp against his neck. There would be bruises along his hip bones tomorrow, Jim guessed, and as soon as he had the thought, Spock's fingers loosened on them, sliding under his back again to draw Jim closer.

Perhaps Jim, being a Human, had not missed the absence of telepathy in earlier excursions, but it was certainly pleasing enough to notice when it was present. Aside from nervous fumbling the first time, their love-making had always been fairly seamless, and Jim could appreciate that. Or, seamless for him at least, he thought, and suddenly he wondered what it was like for Spock, when the meld was not involved and Jim had only his instincts to go on.

"Adequate," Spock murmured, right against his ear, and Jim chuckled into his shoulder.

"Just adequate?"

Spock's tongue dipped into the hollow just behind Jim's earlobe. "In this, as in many other areas, your skill is sufficiently proficient."

Jim grinned, turning his head to encourage the Vulcan's ministrations. "I'm awesome in bed; you can say it."

"I can," Spock said, which was very much not _I am_ , Jim realized, smile widening. Spock's own mouth flickered against his neck, and Jim imagined he had picked up on Jim's understanding. He brushed his thumbs across the other's nipples in retaliation, feeling them harden into tight buds and Spock groaned again, mouthing along his shoulder. Jim's hips rocked up at the sound.

"Spock..." he said breathlessly, about as close to begging as he was likely to get. There was surely pleading and desperation enough being conveyed through his thoughts.

Spock breathed against his skin for another few moments, perhaps gathering himself, and then lifted his head. "Lubrication," he said.

Jim had not thought of that before now, and disappointment descended, but his response was still an immediate, "Don't care." He shook his head.

"I do," Spock said, as Jim had known he would and wished he wouldn't. "I will not explain your rectal trauma to Doctor McCoy."

Jim laughed soundlessly, shoulders shaking and head ducked down almost to Spock's chest. "God, you can't say 'rectal trauma' in bed," he said. "Or mention Bones, for that matter."

"Duly noted, Captain," Spock said.

"Ah, but 'Captain'," Jim lifted his head, "you can say as much as you want."

Spock arched an unimpressed eyebrow and Jim drew him down for another kiss, smiling against his mouth. Their hips met again and Jim tried to ease Spock downward, but Spock's firm grip returned to his waist and held him nearly still; a clear refusal. Jim made a very displeased noise that was _not_ a whine. It had been far too long to worry about this now, to worry about anything but coming together as quickly as possible. Jim had spent months empty, it didn't matter if it would be painful to be full again.

And surely Spock was picking up on this, and Jim's sincerity, but nothing about his movements or his face when Jim looked was even reluctant, merely determined. Jim would not be winning this one.

"Next time," Spock said softly, smoothing a warm hand back over Jim's forehead.

Jim stared up at him. "Next time," he echoed, half a question.

Spock's fingers trailed over the psi-points, and Jim's heart fluttered faster, but Spock only gazed at their position, did not enter. "Your... pain," Spock said, "at the loss of me. Merely the potential of it..." And Jim felt it flare anew at the words, did not bother to shield it. "Hers will never match it."

Jim settled his palm over the back of Spock's hand, lacing his fingers through Spock's own.

"Therefore, I see no logic in denying you for her, particularly when what I feel for you is undeniable."

Jim smirked. " _Kaiidth_ ," he said, and Spock almost smiled.

"Indeed."

Jim's smile faded. "And her?"

Spock's fingers closed on his and he dropped their joined hands to the pillow, settling a bit closer. "I will speak with her at the next available opportunity. I do believe she will yield to the logic of the situation, as we all did to that of the last. But until then, I cannot say."

Jim cringed, shifting awkwardly beneath Spock's weight. Spock's thumb stroked over his knuckles. "Then, maybe, we shouldn't... until..." It was not so much that the thought was half-formed as it was simply Jim's reluctance to speak the suggestion. He wanted Spock and he wanted him now.

Spock's brow furrowed, eyes still fixed on their hands. "True extramarital intimacy will constitute the meld for her," he explained, "which is why I refrain. But there is... logic in your suggestion."

Jim groaned, perhaps a bit too dramatically, but he felt entitled. He arched to rub his erection against Spock's thigh, half making a point. Spock's mouth twitched again and he turned his head to gently fit his lips over Jim's, one press and then two.

" _T'hy'la_ ," he whispered. " _Dungi-ma nash-vey du_."

Jim had no idea what it meant, but it sounded like a promise. "Yeah, yeah, okay," he said. "But I'm sleeping in here."

"Yes," Spock said, like he was telling Jim rather than agreeing with him. He laid his head on the pillow beside Jim's, nose brushing his cheek, and tightened his grip on his hand. Jim, unsatisfied with that, turned his face toward Spock's and stared at his wide-open eyes for a while, feeling the Vulcan's breath rhythmically teasing over his lips.

He was pretty sure Spock was still watching him by the time he finally drifted off.

* * *

Jim woke up unpleasantly hot.

It took him a moment to figure out why, blinking lethargically and groaning. A strip of bright light beamed across his face and he cringed away from it, down into the covers where it was even hotter. The warm arm gripping him tightened around his waist, and he blinked again, heart seizing for a moment before a lazy grin spread across his face and he rolled himself onto his other side to burrow up into Spock's neck.

"Hmm," he murmured. "You awake?"

Spock did not reply aloud, but the palm at the small of Jim's back smoothed up it and over the nape of his neck, long fingers working into his hair. Jim nuzzled like a contented cat.

"Did you sleep?" he asked.

Spock's fingers twitched. "Some."

Jim licked at Spock's neck and they moved again, either encouragement or discomfort; Jim was unsure which.

"You are aroused," Spock said, and Jim snorted.

"You're surprised?" He moved up to Spock's pulse point. "Besides, it's morning." He went to nip at Spock's ear and then paused, drawing back to look at his face, serene but not. "You're not freaking out on me, are you?"

Spock's features melted slightly. "No," he said, fingers petting. As if to prove this, he pressed a soft kiss to Jim's lips. Jim was lethargic enough to keep it slow, but not enough to keep it the short affair Spock had clearly intended. He carefully opened his mouth and coaxed Spock's tongue out, adding a few noises that he knew from the wonder of past melds were rather affecting. God, he had missed this; this comfort, this ease. Treating Spock as though he were only his first officer had been like treating a book as though it were only a paperweight.

He worked a thigh over Spock's legs and scooted closer, half on top of him. Then, difficult though it was, he broke away to smirk down at him. "You are aroused," he breathed, humming when Spock shifted with what may have been unease.

"Jim," he said, in that tone he used on the Bridge when Jim was making what he believed to be an inappropriate joke. Occasionally, he would hear it in Sickbay as well, if he made light of a serious, or even minor, injury of his.

Jim had been intending to rotate his hips a little, but he obediently relented. "You thinkin' about what to say to T'Pid?" he asked.

Spock's forefinger trailed his ear; sometimes Jim wondered if he was as fascinated with their roundness as Jim himself was with the angular curve of Spock's. "I am calculating the amount of time needed to prepare for this afternoon's luncheon in ratio to the current hour," he corrected him.

Jim blinked and moved more of his weight to his elbows, rather than Spock's chest. "I didn't mean that in a, like, 'get on it' kind of way-"

Spock silenced him with a look. "I know." But either way, he had changed the subject, even if telling the truth, and Jim decided not to ask again unless a lack of action was becoming suspiciously on-going. Clearly, Spock wanted to work out what to say to her alone, and really, Jim should have expected that. Spock was often that way with his problems; did not see the need to involve others if he could work out his own solution, especially when it came to bothering or endangering Jim. And Jim didn't know T'Pid or the way this was going to work, how Vulcans handled this sort of thing which surely must be viewed as distasteful. It might even be as personal as _pon farr_ , which Spock had been reluctant to discuss with even him. Best to leave it alone, for now.

Jim cleared his throat. "So, what's the verdict?"

"The verdict?"

"That, uh... time ratio."

"We have one hour and seven minutes until our presence is required."

It sounded nice, before Jim really thought about it. He was now wide awake and they had decided last night and somewhat reiterated this morning that abstinence would be the course of action for the time-being. Lying in bed, naked, with Spock, unable to do anything about that was perhaps the most frustrating thing Jim could imagine right now. In that same vein, he was reluctant to leave. If he left, Spock might change his mind. This all might disappear, one way or another.

Jim could wake up, just as alone as he had the last time.

Either Jim's eyes had drifted off for too long, or Spock had picked up on the concern, because his previously wandering fingers moved to cup Jim's jaw. " _T'hy'la_ ," he said this time, in much the same tone as before. Jim leaned into the touch.

"I know," he mumbled. What he knew, he wasn't sure, but he knew he knew it. Spock didn't promise things lightly. Jim dropped his head down with a sigh. "I should go shower."

"Indeed," Spock said, in a way that Jim was certain was meant to imply he smelled or something and he snorted. A Vulcan, trying to lighten the mood; he apparently needed to stop being so maudlin.

"Okay, I can take a hint." He lifted his head and kissed Spock in farewell, laughing a little when he clung a bit as Jim tried to pull away. He obediently stayed put for another moment, allowing them to break apart naturally, fascinated by the way Spock's eyes remained shut when they did, fingers still tight on Jim's hips. Perhaps he was not the only one feeling unsure. "Hey," he said against Spock's chin, "okay?"

Spock nodded, hands moving to his back and absently stroking. "I am..." But he didn't finish.

"Nervous," Jim supplied, and Spock did not protest the assessment. "I would be too. Hell, am. But it'll work. Whatever it is we're gonna do with this."

Spock's eyes followed Jim's lips with a wan expression. "I can guarantee nothing beyond my devotion to you."

"I know that."

"And in Vulcan tradition, that will mean little."

"I know."

"What you are to me garners a certain... nominal respect, and it is on that we must rely, but even this will be viewed as antiquated and unnecessary."

Jim took that in, unsure if he should be having as much trouble translating Spock's point as he was. "You mean by T'Pid."

" _Jim!_ "

Jim winced and groaned. "... That would be Bones," he said.

" _I would come in, but I'm afraid to!_ " he heard, and damn, it could not be good for passersby to see the doctor standing outside their door, screaming, if anyone was out in the hall with him. " _You go about your business and then you let me in, understand? Or better yet, just... meet me back in our room. I'm givin' you five minutes before I just come in anyway!_ "

Jim heard no more and had no proof that his friend had departed other than his word. He sighed and looked from the door back to Spock. He looked unimpressed.

"The doctor has a predilection for taking liberties with your personal life," he noted, unnecessary except to convey his annoyance.

"Yeah, well," Jim pecked his lips again, "he's not the only one." And he reluctantly hoisted himself off both the Vulcan and the bed, stretching. Spock's eyes, unsurprisingly, followed him. "I'm gonna go put out that fire. I'll meet you in the chancellor's anteroom in..."

"Fifty-seven minutes."

"Yeah. That." Jim lifted the blankets from the foot of the bed and extracted his sleep pants from them, wiggling into them and cringing at the idea of going out into the corridor in nothing but them by the light of day. "We'll talk more back on the ship." He shrugged. "When there's something to talk about."

Spock did not argue this and so Jim moved for the door, shooting a smile back at him before commanding the door open. There was no way to prevent it swinging open entirely, no hope for discretion, and he poked his head around the frame to peek into the hallway. There were noises, on down toward the next corner where it branched off, but no one present, and so he slipped out, making for his own room with more speed than his reluctance to arrive there would normally allow.

McCoy was tugging his boots on when Jim entered, looking harassed. He waited for the door to shut behind him again before fixing him with a glare. For some reason, Jim didn't feel joking it off his face would be the best avenue.

"You can't yell in the hall," Jim told him in his best command voice.

"Like I would have if there had been anyone to hear. Were you in there all night?" he demanded. "Tell me you just got up really early."

"Not... all night."

"Goddamn it, Jim." McCoy's foot dropped down to the ground, shoe in place. "Did you sleep with him?"

Jim's brow furrowed. "Why should that have to matter to you?"

"Because it's my job to tell you when you're being unbelievably stupid! Lord knows, someone has to." He stood and tossed a shirt at Jim. "He's _married_ , Jim. I'm not sure you get that."

Jim huffed, tugging the shirt over his head. "Believe me, Bones," he said. "I get that."

"No, you get that something is in the way," McCoy protested. "I'm not sure you get -- _really_ get -- that other people are going to be affected by this. That she's a real person. And that no matter how Spock came to be hers, he is _hers_."

Jim swallowed, feeling more chastised than he had been prepared to. "He was mine first."

McCoy shook his head. "This isn't grade school. It's an affair. No matter what else you're calling it." He sighed and slumped back to the bed. "You know, I thought maybe... but I thought Spock would hold out."

"And that I wouldn't; is that it?"

"Be as offended as you like, Jim," he said, "but here we sit, don't we?"

Jim was trying to be angry, but he felt more sick than anything. The fact that he couldn't argue the point was only making it worse. It took him a moment to remember how to gulp down the feeling. "I'm..." he managed, before deciding there was no way to finish the sentence. He silently retired to the bathroom. There was hardly time to say more, anyway.


	9. Part IX

The luncheon had been a tense affair. It was the final event of the mission as it was, which always had a way of making Jim anxious, ready to move on as he customarily was by then, but then there was McCoy's tense presence to be borne as well, that try as he might, Jim could not ignore. His friend was hardly subtle about it in the first place; anger had always been one of the few emotions the doctor had no problem conveying without embarrassment, particularly of the righteous sort.

And much as Jim hated to admit it, he _was_ right. Jim liked to imagine that there was plenty of gray area to be considered in this kind of situation, and that McCoy was being far too fundamentalist with a predicament that could hardly allow for it. But there was something to be said for knowing where the line stood, and Jim, ever a fan of the school of thought that any and all were always moving, had always had a hard time of it. And perhaps there was no clear-cut division; perhaps gray did _bleed_ into black, but there was still black, and Jim was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't at least be able to look back and tell once he had reached it.

McCoy certainly seemed to think so, in any case.

Spock had been there to take the edge off, but his proximity was currently electrifying rather than soothing, buzzing up and down Jim's side any time he got too close. The previous night had taken some of the emotional edge off of the longing, but the humming awareness was still there, as undeniable as McCoy's vexation. Jim could hardly allow that to show, however, not if he didn't want to hear even more about this from the doctor. He had felt like a child in a china shop the whole time, hands clasped firmly behind his back with only mother's occasional warning glare preventing him from reaching for a shining glass bauble.

They arrived back on the ship late beta shift, and Jim did not bother debriefing his friends, telling them to simply have their reports sent to his PADD by morning. His official excuse was that, well, he had been there the same as them, but honestly, he had no desire to be cooped up in a room with McCoy for an hour, and he surmised the doctor's sentiments were much the same. Dinner and bed, he had told them, go check in with your departments, and with a not meaningless look at Spock, he had left it at that.

A quick check-in with the Bridge, which he had only grudgingly _left_ at quick because he had to be up for alpha shift and last night's minimal sleep was beginning to catch up with him, and Jim was heading back to his quarters to flop down on his bed without dinner.

Spock would still be catching up with Munroe or someone down in the labs. Jim wondered if T'Pid would be getting a subspace transmission tonight. Was the hour too late? Even if it wasn't too late for receiving messages, perhaps it was too late for Spock to gear himself up for sending one. And what exactly was involved in this sort of message anyway? _I'm leaving you for my ex?_ Were there papers to sign, or was their connection considered a wholly personal matter? Was there equitable division of the assets, alimony to pay? How long did the whole process take, and once it was seen to, how long before Spock could bond with him?

Jim's eyes flickered open for a moment. Did he want to bond with Spock?

"Yes," Jim snorted to his pillow, flopping his head to the other side, because how ridiculous that he had thought for a moment he might have to think. Of course, he wanted that.

But then what to do once they had? Jim could hardly fathom how they had even gotten here, let alone the future. Where would they be another seven years from now? Effective rape or murder, one of the two, and Jim could see Spock forgiving himself neither, no matter how altered his state.

Jim shut his eyes against the thought.

_"I did not realize you would be resting."_

_Jim cracked an eye back open, squinting at the rigid form of his first officer standing just inside the doorway._

_"M'not," he said, finally forcing himself to half sit up as he had not for the buzzer. "Or I wouldn't have let you in."_

_"Perhaps you should be."_

_"I see Bones has recruited you, as well," Jim huffed, sitting up entirely just to prove he could. The newly regenerated skin and the bandaging at his waist protested the move, but he ignored it. "I'm fine."_

_"Fine has variable definitions," Spock pointed out primly. "And I was not 'recruited', nor would the doctor's opinion be likely to sway me had I not already shared it. I am here of my own volition."_

_"Couldn't wait to chew me out until I was fully recovered, huh?"_

_"Your comportment planetside was reckless and unnecessary."_

_Jim lifted a finger, which somehow also managed to strain the bandage, he noticed too late. "'Reckless', I give you. I'm not so sure about the 'unnecessary'-"_

_"-You should consider your actions more carefully-"_

_"-I_ always _act for a reason-"_

_"-if in deference to no more than the crew's albeit somewhat ill-placed concern for you."_

_Jim paused. "The crew's concern," he repeated and Spock straightened a bit more._

_"The whole scenario was less than I would expect of the man I know," was all he conceded, and Jim could hardly even take it as a point, because ouch. "You occasionally still behave as a boy with nothing to live for, which can be, to be frank, somewhat insulting."_

_Spock probably meant to the whole crew again or to Starfleet, or would at least pretend he did if asked. Jim grit his teeth. "Gettin' a little personal, aren't we?"_

_"It is my duty to inform you when your choices are misguided or detrimental."_

_"Fine, then," Jim said, tone clipped. "Duly noted. Anything else?"_

_"No, sir."_

_Jim scoffed. "Yeah," he said, adjusting his pillows, "I didn't think so. You know, anytime you wanna talk about what's_ actually _eating you, you just let me know."_

_"... Eating me, Captain?"_

_"Oh, don't do the thing," Jim snapped. "Talk about insulting."_

_Spock said nothing to that and Jim braced his hands on the edge of his mattress, either side of his knees._

_"How long exactly are we planning to ignore this?" he asked._

_He watched Spock swallow, clearly considering whether or not to brush the question off as another misunderstanding. "... I believe you mistake a carefully considered choice for ambivalence."_

_Jim squinted. "You're_ choosing _to ignore it, then?"_

_Spock hesitated. Jim knew that hadn't been what the Vulcan had meant, but the question would prompt him to inform Jim that he had chosen not to act, which would force him to admit there was something to act upon in the first place. Jim was perhaps pushing too much, but hell, someone had to, because it wasn't going to be Spock and Jim knew he wasn't imagining this. It had been steadily growing for months now, to the point of undeniable just shy of annoying, and always frustrating._

_If Jim was entirely honest with himself, the whole thing scared the shit out of him, but he had always excelled at leaping before he looked, as this conversation had demonstrated thus far._

_"I did not come here to discuss this," Spock finally settled on._

_"Oh, I think you did." Jim had lived with McCoy long enough to recognize fear and concern masked as anger and scolding. "Admit it," he said with a slight grin, "if I died, you'd miss me."_

_Spock looked exasperated with this request, but neither did he deny it._

_Jim's smile faded. "Spock," he said. "I'm_ fine _." He lifted his arms wide to display this. "Look, I'm-"_

_He could not suppress the wince this time, or the instinct to immediately lower his hands again and press one to his side, where the pain was flaring. Spock was beside him the next instant, it seemed, and Jim had not intended to entice him closer, but apparently faking injury or illness would work like a charm, should he ever be so inclined._

_"You will rupture your dermal bandaging," Spock warned, placing his hand alongside Jim's, appraisingly. His fingers bled warmth through the gauze._

_"I'm fine."_

_"Proving this is hardly worth realizing the contrary." Spock pressed gently and Jim bit his lip._

_"Okay, okay," Jim agreed. Spock's eyes remained downcast, hand still in place, even once Jim was sure he must have ascertained there was no new damage. "Spock," he said again. After a moment of hesitant debating he leaned forward to drop his forehead against his friend's. "I'm okay."_

_Tension. Spock's eyelids drooped, obvious up this close, and he breathed out carefully like he was the one in pain, here. His hand traveled to Jim's hip, where it could tighten._

_Jim moved his own hand from his bandage to settle over Spock's and Spock made a slightly strangled noise before turning his head and catching Jim's lips like it was an accident. Jim took a moment to be more surprised than he had thought he would be, to note the strangeness of kissing a man rather than a woman, but the whole assessment was over in a split second, and then there was nothing left to do but react. He opened his mouth on instinct and Spock eagerly plundered it, the hand that wasn't at his waist reaching for his neck. Jim had never been on the submissive end of this sort of thing, and that too, took a second of adjustment. He reached for Spock's shoulders and looped his arms around them, a litany of_ closercloser _ringing in his head and Spock followed the movement, pressing Jim backward onto the bed, and then both of them realized at the exact same time why this was not the best idea at Jim's shout._

_Spock withdrew, clearly alarmed, and Jim had to clench his fingers hard on his shoulders to prevent him leaving his position and, most likely, the room. "I'm fine," he insisted, hands sliding up to cup Spock's face. "Don't freak out on me."_

_"... This is ill-advised."_

_Jim snorted a laugh, still blinking through the ripples of pain. "That's what I like about it."_

_He kissed Spock again before he could protest._

"I did not realize you would be resting."

Jim blinked, turning his head to face the door again, disorientation only augmented by finding Spock much closer than he had imagined he would be. He was crouched beside the head of the bed, and now Jim realized that, he could feel a warm palm on his back, through his shirt. "Wha-?" he managed, still confused as to the time, hell, the year.

"Did you eat?" Spock asked and Jim had to think to remember.

"No," he said. "M'fine. Sleep."

Spock's mouth twitched. "As you wish."

He made no move to leave, but Jim shimmied a hand up to clutch at his arm and tug. "Stay," he mumbled.

Spock hovered for a moment, perhaps debating, then he obediently hoisted himself onto the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. Jim watched all clothing but his pants removed before he was standing again and Jim smirked, lazily.

"You'll wrinkle 'em," he pointed out.

There was another thoughtful pause, before Spock seemed to see the logic and removed those as well.

Jim's eyes flicked down to the Starfleet issue briefs. "I bet those wrinkle, too," he said.

But Spock only raised an eyebrow at that before shoving gently at his shoulder. Jim smugly scooted over to his own side of the bed, where he had had no cause to sleep for months and then settled against Spock with a contented sigh the moment he had slipped beneath the blankets Jim had not bothered before to turn down.

He would probably think the evening all part of the same dream, by the time ship's morning came around.

* * *

When Jim woke this time, it was still dark.

Not that it was not always technically dark on a starship, but the lights in his quarters were set to rise with the alpha shift alarm, and neither the sound nor the sudden brilliance he was used to had roused him. There were certain nights, he had found, that he awoke like this. He had only _really_ noticed it since his relationship with Spock had begun, and he was unsure if that was because no one else had ever spent the night, or because it was _Spock_ , but he would wake up, not just horny, but affectionate, downright tender. It was an almost desperate feeling, occasionally; it used to lead to lazy middle of the night or very early morning sex.

Spock was awake. Jim could sense that right down to his toes. His fingers were tracing patterns -- kisses, Jim thought -- along his hip bone and the groove between it and his groin. His breath was shuddering over Jim's neck, just beneath his ear, lips brushing, but no more. He had to know Jim was conscious by now, but Jim was certain he had not been trying to wake him.

"Planning to molest me in my sleep?" he murmured, just above a whisper.

He felt Spock swallow hard against his shoulder. "Attempting not to," he said, just as low.

Jim felt his own breathing suddenly pick up and his already full cock twitch. Against his better judgment, he reached down and settled his hand over the back of Spock's, guiding it downward. Spock groaned right in his ear and pressed more tightly against his back, a hardness like his own sliding over the juncture of his thighs. He ground back into it, moving his hand up Spock's arm and over his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers scrabbling to grip.

"Jim," he gasped, half scolding. His knuckles skirted along Jim's erection, but did not really touch it.

"Y'started it." Jim turned over onto his other side beneath Spock's arm until he was facing him; the Vulcan was radiating heat. "God," Jim whispered appreciatively, snaking his arms over Spock's shoulders and pressing their mouths together. So warm, all of it; Spock's mouth, the blankets, this feeling in his belly. He pulled away long enough to breathe and instantly wanted more. And Spock was losing quite a bit of control, he could tell from the insistence of his kisses, the soft, hungry noises coming up from the back of his throat that Jim swallowed. It was really easy to feel like they were still asleep, like morning wasn't coming nor the outside world, like this was excusable, and there were supplies here, right in the nightstand drawer, if Jim would just reach for it... "Fuck me..." he said breathlessly, hips writhing almost of their own accord. Spock groaned again, pulling him closer. Jim could feel the length of him against his own, hot and firm, even through the fabric of his pants and Spock's briefs. "Yes, come on."

" _Ashayam..._ "

Jim jerked back at the sudden blaring, startled from his hazy contentment, and he felt Spock freeze beneath him. The lights rose to one hundred percent and Jim squeezed his eyes shut against it as his pupils constricted painfully. By some silent consent, they waited until all of the alarm's chimes had passed before speaking.

"Shit," was the first thing Jim could think to say. He flopped off of Spock and onto his back in a boneless heap. He was unsure if he was protesting the interruption or the close call.

Spock sat up at his side, eyes forward. "I will speak with T'Pid this evening," he said, and Jim felt his heart rate pick back up. "... This cannot go on."

With a furrowed brow, Jim reached over to place a hand on Spock's lower back, and Spock visibly flinched, but allowed it. Since he had, Jim sat up himself and shelved his chin on the Vulcan's shoulder, hand moving to half wrap around his waist. Spock's eyes slipped closed and Jim dug his nose into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "S'gonna be fine," he assured him.

Spock said nothing, but the little voice in Jim's head that had grown to sound less and less like himself and more and more like his lover petulantly told him fine had variable definitions.

* * *

Alpha shift dragged on more than Jim could ever remember it having done in the past. An ion storm warning that it turned out was very easy for them to divert course from and never saw was about as exciting as it got. Spock actually had no cause to speak to him for almost the entirety of it. And if Jim thought up something to randomly say to him just to touch base, Spock would see through it, and while he wouldn't think less of Jim for it, Jim would still feel foolish. So he sat as silently as the Vulcan, speaking only to those he needed to.

When the end of shift rolled around, Jim purposely did not look in Spock's direction. He would not invite him to dinner tonight. Spock had things to do, or so he had said, and Jim would leave him to them in the hopes that they got done. He honestly didn't know what to say to Spock until it _was_ done; this morning had been uncomfortable enough.

So instead, while Spock attended to his business, Jim rode down to deck seven to take care of his own.

McCoy glanced up when Jim leaned against the doorway to his office, and then pointedly returned to his data PADD. "I'm busy," he said.

"Liar," Jim said. "Paperwork's not due 'til the end of the month, and you only have rounds to do before you're off for the night." He shrugged a shoulder. "Barring unforeseen emergencies."

"Okay, so then I have rounds I gotta do," McCoy conceded. "Get lost."

"Bones," Jim said, in a less teasing tone. "Don't make me break a leg just to get you to talk to me. You know me; I'll do it."

His friend looked up again, expression flat. "Fine," he said. "Sit."

Jim did, crossing the ankle of one leg over the knee of the other. He sat there silently, leg shaking, eyes roving the room, until McCoy slammed his stylus down and fixed him with a glare.

"Spit it out, whatever you want to say," he insisted.

"Okay." Jim sat forward. "I'm not sorry."

"Neither am I," McCoy said. He lifted his eyebrows. "We done?"

Jim stared at him until the doctor looked uncomfortable. "This doesn't have to be about us," he said.

"Doesn't have to be," McCoy agreed. "Even isn't. But when I get angry, you actually listen. And you do need to listen. So, I'm stayin' angry."

"I need to listen... but you're not talking to me?"

McCoy blinked and Jim grinned. "Damn it, Jim, you know what I mean, don't do that."

Jim sat back. "Bones, if you want me to put an end to me and Spock now that I have him back... you're gonna be angry for a long time."

"That's just my point; you _don't_ have him back."

"I'm not some cheating idiot who deludes themselves into thinking their lover will leave their wife-"

"But you do think he will?"

"That's _my_ point; that's why I'm not. This is Spock we're talking about. This is _me_ and Spock. He will. He's up there, right now, calling her. Said he was gonna this morning."

McCoy squinted at him. "What exactly is he saying to her?"

Jim opened his mouth and then stopped himself. He didn't exactly know the _specifics_ of the plotted conversation, but he did know the gist. "I don't know. That we're back together or whatever. Or maybe he's just letting her know that they need to talk in person, I don't know. But he's talking to her about it. We've been waiting 'til he does to do anything, if it makes you feel better," he added bitterly. Mostly, anyway.

"Jim," His friend blinked like he wasn't understanding him, "what... do you know anything about Vulcan bonds?"

Jim could tell him he knew some, but thinking perhaps it wasn't entirely the point, he simply said warily, "Why?"

"You really thought..." McCoy sighed and rubbed at his forehead, "Well, at least this makes you less of an ass than I was thinking, but... Look, kid, I might be wrong here, I'm not positive, but... I'm pretty sure they can't be broken."

Jim stared at him. "... What do you mean?"

"Bonds, Vulcan bonds, I'm pretty sure they're permanent. At least the real ones, the full ones. They... did Spock tell you they could be?"

"Well, of..." Jim stopped himself from assuring the doctor that he had, thinking back. Spock had said he would speak with her, had implied he and Jim would be together, nothing more. "I... don't know."

McCoy looked a lot less angry and that was about the only good that had come of this conversation so far. "I think you need to talk to him, then. 'Cause I'm not so sure he can come back from this."

Jim swallowed.

_To the service, yes... but not to you._

* * *

Jim did not seek Spock out. He waited for him to come to him, as he knew he would. He sat at the edge of his bed, thinking and getting no work done, until he heard the door swish open. Apparently, they were back on familiar enough terms to refrain from buzzing. He entered as rigidly as always and Jim watched him.

Spock blinked as the door closed behind him. "Are you ill?" he asked.

Jim huffed a humorless laugh, gazing down at his hands. "No," he told them. He lifted his eyes but not his head. "Did you do it?"

Spock stood straighter. "I spoke with her, yes."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That my feelings for you could no longer be ignored. That you and I are _t'hy'lara_. That we must speak further upon the nearest return I could make to the colony."

"And when's that?"

"As soon as you can authorize it, Captain."

Jim nodded to the floor. He wondered how quickly he could swing that. Spock had used up at least half of his leave this year, but then he had not taken the last one along with them, and he surely had more saved up that could be used retroactively. Of course, if Jim wanted to go with him, that would be trickier, but then he supposed he didn't _have_ to...

"How did she take it?" he found himself asking.

Spock took a moment. "She did not seem entirely surprised. Nor hurt. Though perhaps... somewhat condescending."

Jim scoffed. No doubt Spock's lack of control disgusted her. Though he could hardly fault her any reaction she had, no matter how severe. "Somewhat condescending," she had certainly earned.

"What happens now?"

Jim felt a hand settle over the back of his bent head. He had not realized Spock had stepped closer. "We wait."

"Again," Jim retorted. He raised his head and Spock's hand followed it. "For what?" He shook his head. "Bones said you can't break the bond with her."

Spock's eyebrows drew together slightly. "I cannot," he admitted, though it did not sound like an admission. He waited a moment and when Jim said nothing, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside him. "...Were you under the impression that I could?"

Jim was still trying to deal with the first statement, let alone the ten kinds of fool the second made him feel. How to answer that? Of course he had thought Spock could. How could they be together if he couldn't? And he had said they could, hadn't he?

"I don't know what I thought," he muttered. He stood to pace, to put distance between himself and Spock, who felt like he was possibly inwardly berating himself.

"Jim, the... the lifebond is most sacred to my people. T'Pid and I are _telsu_ ; I cannot change that through anything but death."

Jim was angry suddenly and thought he actually might be close to frustrated tears here, like a fucking _woman_ and no, that was not happening. "Then what do you want from me?" he demanded, allowing his voice to raise an octave.

Spock sat very still. "... You," he said.

Jim, ready to yell, felt his shoulders droop. Spock had a way of calming him even when he very much had no desire to be calm and he sighed, annoyed. "Okay," he said at length. "You get me." He looked up. "Do I get you?"

"You get everything I have to give."

"Which, turns out, doesn't include what she has."

Spock did not reply. Jim shook his head and paced to the other side of the room.

"I am sorry," he heard Spock say eventually, while Jim's eyes were focused out the viewport, an odd mirror image of their positions several weeks ago. "If I had thought you unaware, I..."

He heard Spock stand, but did not turn.

"There is more," Spock told him. "To this process. But I believe I should leave you to contemplate if you would choose to take this avenue now you possess new information. I am asking much of you; more than you initially believed."

"A lot more," Jim couldn't stop himself from adding.

It was another few moments before Spock spoke again. It was so backwards, watching the Vulcan walk on eggshells around him. "You once told me you would take me any way you could have me," he said at Jim's back. Jim shut his eyes. "... I do hope there is still truth in that."

Jim stood, gazing at the stars, every muscle tense. He thought perhaps Spock would touch him before he left, but then there was the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing, of Spock leaving, and Jim did not stop him.


End file.
